


A Horror Show called...Reality!

by LozisLaw



Category: South Park
Genre: Addiction, Anorexia, Blood and Violence, But I think we all knew that already, Casual Sex, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Cigarettes, Cocaine, Crack, Depressing, Depression, Domestic Discipline, Don't Read This, Drinking to Cope, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, F/M, Fights, Fist Fights, Fucked Up, Fucking Useless Parents, Gang Violence, Gangs, Hate Crimes, Hate Sex, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, High School, Horny Teenagers, Insanity, Knives, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Not Happy, Past Domestic Violence, Please Don't Hate Me, Power Play, Rivalry, Roughness, Seriously fucked up, Stabbing, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Symbiotic Relationship, This is seriously FUCKED UP don't read for fuck's sake, Underage Drinking, Underage Prostitution, Violent Sex, Your funeral, read it if you want, whatever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozisLaw/pseuds/LozisLaw
Summary: Shank a bitch; call it helloSmoke a drag; call it airDrink a bottle; call it therapyLive in South Park; call it hell**What if stuff that happened as children wasn't swept under the bridge? What if it stuck to the carpet like a blood stain, getting larger, uglier, harder to contain?Here we are, as teens. Dealing with the shit that was supposed to be water under the bridge, instead creating a whirlpool of horrors, that can only drag everyone in and drown them.
Relationships: Bebe Stevens/Wendy Testaburger, Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman/Wendy Testaburger, Ike Broflovski/Firkle Smith, Karen McCormick/Tricia Tucker, Kenny McCormick & Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kenny McCormick/Bebe Stevens, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kenny McCormick/Wendy Testaburger, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh, Philip "Pip" Pirrip/Damien Thorn, Red/Bebe Stevens, Token Black/Clyde Donovan
Comments: 35
Kudos: 72





	1. TeEnAGErS

**Author's Note:**

> I will only say this once...
> 
> If you don't like the content matter, don't read this. I will not respond to bitching about its horrible nature if you don't like it.
> 
> If you don't mind or don't care, great! Continue at your own discretion, I'll be waiting for your comment at the bottom.
> 
> (I'm usually nice, but I have to be tough here for obvious reasons, so sorry)
> 
> (I'm probably exaggerating how bad this actually is, but my definition and other peoples are different, so I thought I'd be safe and put in the warning)

STAN

Waking up in the morning was the hardest part, and usually Stan skimmed it over entirely so he wouldn’t have to endure it. That included just staying in bed all day, or nursing the bottle of Jameson he kept in the bottom drawer by his bed. It was easier, having it close. Its bittersweet call was always a welcome one, and some days Stan couldn’t even go to school without it.

He couldn’t just drop out of school altogether, as much as he’d prefer lying in bed all day to the shitty class. Everyone there is in such a wrap about the groups, and the girls make school hell for the boys. Such a fucking waste of time. So he took his medicine as he sat on the bed, before getting dressed to endure another day of shit. He made it only a few sips, finding it countered his emotions without making him look too drunk. It was important to look okay, even if his mind was actually a swarming black hole, sucking out all happiness like a plague.

Stan poured some of the medicine in a flask, for safekeeping in his jacket. He imagines anyone would do the same, in his situation. He didn’t bring books and shit to school, because ever since middle school, the last thing about school was actual learning. Whatever else could happen in that pit of suffering, it was quite a lot that didn’t include anything they could use when they graduated. Graduation, hilarious. As if he’s going to college. As if anyone is.

His dad was hanging out in the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee that Stan would bet everything he owned it had vodka in it. The whole dining room had been converted into a walk in bar of sorts, but Stan wasn’t allowed any. He stole it anyway, and Randy didn’t give a shit of notice. The pathetic bastard was drunk off his balls every day. His mom left two years ago, took Shelley with her, and left poor defenceless Stan on his own with his lunatic alcoholic father. It wasn’t her choice, neither was it Stan’s, because Randy hired the best lawyers with the remains of his Lorde money, to have full custody of Stan until he’s eighteen. Stan’s counting down the days.

Randy gave Stan a vague buzzed look as he whirred through the kitchen looking for food he could bring to school for Kyle. Randy was in his dressing gown, which was in desperate need of a wash, had the Chinese they ordered last night stained on it, which he’d been wearing since then anyway. Stan ignored him when he obviously wanted his little five minutes of attention in the morning.

‘’Well sleep, son?’’ Randy asked with half-closed eyes. Stan made a vague noise of agreement, though he hadn’t.

‘’Are you going to work today?’’ Stan asked, when Randy made no intention of getting up from the table, holding his mug with one hand.

‘’They don’t need me today, ‘sfine,’’ Randy said, slurring. Stan stopped in his tracks, frowning.

‘’It’s not a matter of whether they need you. We need them, we need money to survive. If you take any more days off they’ll fire you, and I’ll be taken away from your custody,’’ Stan said. Randy was shit scared of that, he knew, though the man fervently denied that he was clinically lonely, and depressed. He needed Stan a hell of a lot more than Stan needed his dad. Randy just shrugged.

‘’I’ve got Lorde money, we’re fine,’’ Randy waved him off.

‘’We’re not fine, that money was all spent last year dad! You’re not making anything, you can’t survive on mom’s child support payments. You have to go to work,’’ Stan said. If Randy lost his job, Stan was getting the fuck out of here, regardless of whether he was only seventeen. So that might be incentive, but Stan still cared about his dad, despite his life failing and subsequently contributing to Stan’s life failing. If he died here alone, Stan would mourn for him, for like two months. That’s a long time.

‘’God, what are you, my mom? You sound like Sharon, ga’ll,’’ Randy said. Stan took a deep breath and fisted his hands, stopping himself from going off for bringing up his mom. Stan only got to see her once a week, and she lived in Denver now. Randy’s childish jealousy regarding Stan’s favourite parents has been a long theme since the divorce, and Stan thought it was never a competition. It was obvious he’d always love his mother more.

‘’Whatever. I’m going to school. If you get fired, I’m outta here, just keep that in mind,’’ Stan said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder after he packed some cookies and weird fruit bites that Kyle likes. Randy hit his fist on the table.

‘’You’re not leaving anywhere, son. You follow my rules in this house, do you understand!’’ Randy yelled out like a petulant child, hitting the table. Stan flipped him off over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen.

‘’Whatever, old man,’’ Stan said, hearing more drunk curses as he slammed the front door shut behind him. It snowed last night, and the path was covered in fresh cold powder. Stan trekked over it and continued on his path to school, sighing in the cold air. Another day in this town, always the same, even when it wasn’t.

The walk to school was nice and peaceful, and Stan had opted for walking instead of catching the bus since eighth grade, mostly for the quiet, partly because the boys took control of the bus lines early on. And by the boys, Stan didn’t mean the gender, though they were all boys, but the lead gang of sorts that dominated over the whole school. If they could call themselves a gang, it was just a band of ‘tough’ kids who thought they could suck up to the biggest piece of shit in the world and in turn get benefits and rewards. School was pretty fucked up right now, but it had been heading into the drain for years. It felt like all this shit started in fourth grade, and just got so bad that South Park High’s turned into Compton of sorts. Stan ignored all that political crap, along with Kyle and Kenny, and just stuck outside where the gang’s jurisdiction ended. Kenny sometimes got involved, but he had a free pass for being friends with the both of the gang leaders.

It felt like the only time when things were semi-normal was on the walk to school, before Stan saw anyone, and before he remembered that genders were having a war at the moment, and he’d wilfully denied being a part of it, making him an enemy to both sides. The girls side was probably even more ruthless than the boys, mostly for their resources and tactics that the boys couldn’t fathom. They made money to stay alive, they had operations. It was all fucked up, Stan didn’t like thinking about it too much, because he could still see his young classmates behind their jaded experiences, playing together and throwing snow balls at each during breaks, just like they did when they were kids. He didn’t like to think about what the hell happened, because he knew. Fucking South Park happened.

Arriving at school probably wasn’t the typical way to do it either, because Stan bet that other high schools didn’t have different entrances for each gang. The boys entered through the front of the school, the girls on the side doors. The wild cards, rebels, whatever, they entered through smaller doors that weren’t acknowledged by the groups. That was Stan’s crew, sort of. But he didn’t enter the school straight away. He headed to the back where he usually found Kyle and sometimes Kenny if he wasn’t busy whoring himself.

Kenny was the one he found here this morning, in the dark area behind the school beside the teachers carpark, smoking a cigarette. Stan approached him, leaning against the staircase of the single door entry to the building. Kenny looked at him and nodded in acknowledgment.

‘’You see Kyle yet?’’ Stan asked. Kenny shook his head

‘’Nup. You think he’s ditching?’’ Kenny asked.

‘’He wouldn’t stay at home, with his mom there,’’ Stan said, certain of this. Sometimes Kyle actually skipped and spent the day in Stan’s room by himself using the ladder to get into the window, anywhere but his own house. Stan would find him there in the afternoon, with not unpleasant surprise, and he’d stay there until late.

‘’I got a limited time offer of the special from Lola this morning, and she wants to know if you guys want to book any,’’ Kenny said, blowing out a long line of smoke to his side.

‘’Nah, you know I’m not into that shit. Wendy will come back expecting shit from me,’’ Stan said, wondering if he could get away with taking a swig of the medicine this early, while Kyle isn’t watching. Kenny doesn’t judge him, at least not actively.

‘’Yeah, you don’t want anything from Wendy, dude,’’ Kenny warned, cracking a smile. Stan punched his shoulder lightly.

‘’And I’m guessing you do. Or you already have?’’ Stan asked, pretty certain they’ve fucked before. Kenny shrugged.

‘’I’m her buddy, she needs help sometimes fucking with Cartman. I’m always down for fucking him over,’’ Kenny grinned, tapping his ash down.

‘’Sick dude,’’ Stan said, scrunching his face, imagining the kind of ‘help’ Wendy asks for. She’s reliably pretty fucked up now, which was surprising, considering she was very grounded as a kid. He didn’t like to think about that either. Wendy was the leader of the girls, alongside Bebe, and together they made it their mission to cause as much chaos with the boys as possible while manning their business.

‘’I tell you, the shit they plan in that club of theirs. I can’t tell you, because they’d literally kill me. But just take my word for it,’’ Kenny said.

‘’I believe you dude,’’ Stan said, not needing to hear anymore. They stayed out a little longer, while Kenny finished his smoke, and Stan avoided class. They eventually went in when the bell rang, and walked to their roll classes. Kenny and Stan were in the same one, as well as Kyle, because the school faculty were a bunch of negligent dumbasses who didn’t assign roll class alphabetically to last name. Stan’s not complaining though.

Walking through the halls always makes him feel slightly accused of something, as he gets stares from both girls and boys he knows for a fact are part of either gang, and are probably plotting something to blackmail him into joining them. It’s Cartman’s obsession aside from the girls, to blackmail Stan and Kyle to join him, but he comes up dry, because there’s nothing secret in their lives he can use. Everyone’s household problems are loud and frequent in the air, which is kind of relieving in a way. And Stan’s never killed a guy, accept maybe Baby Fark Mgeezax. But he was just an alien, and he didn’t even die in the end.

Kenny and Stan walked into the classroom full of noisy classmates, and Stan found Kyle already seated, arms crossed as he read a book around the loud thrums of people. Kenny took a seat, and Stan walked in front of Kyle’s desk and bent down to face him. Kyle’s eyes flicked up to Stan, and he dropped his book on the desk as Stan went forward and kissed him, licking his lips open. Kyle responded with surprise, but quickly reciprocated, and held Stan’s face in place. Just then, they were interrupted as someone walked past Stan and bumped him out of shot of Kyle’s lips.

‘’Do you mind, asshole?’’ Stan said, turning in annoyance.

‘’My bad, you guys,’’ Cartman said, feigning a shit-eating innocent expression. Kyle rolled his eyes, and leant back in his seat, sighing. Stan plonked down in the desk beside him, glaring when Cartman continued to stare before them expectantly.

‘’What do you want fatass?’’ Kyle asked, slapping his book shut.

‘’Oh nothin, you guys. Just wondering if you made a decision yet,’’ Cartman said sweetly. Kyle scoffed, and Stan sighed. He asked every day.

‘’What would our jobs for you be if we decided to join your circus?’’ Kyle asked.

‘’You guys would be my bitches, same as everyone else. I’m sure you can appreciate good opportunities when they arise,’’ Cartman said.

‘’You know what, Cartman. We don’t say this enough, but you should know. There is no way in hell! That we are joining your pony club, ever,’’ Kyle said angrily.

‘’Does your bitch talk for you now Stan?’’ Cartman sneered. Stan matched his glare.

‘’You bet your fat ass he does,’’ Stan replied.

‘’Just fuck off, dude. We’re not joining your drug gang,’’ Kyle said. Cartman scowled, and walked past them, ‘accidently’ bumping Stan’s shoulder.

‘’Fags,’’ Cartman muttered, before going to the back of the class to linger with his group. Stan turned back to Kyle, and he shrugged.

‘’Where were you this morning?’’ Stan asked.

‘’My mom tried to get my dad out of the office again, and it backfired. I had a fight with her about it, and she grounded me. She says I can only go to school when class starts, and I have to go home straight away,’’ Kyle said, flicking the edge of the paper of his book.

‘’Dude, that sucks,’’ Stan said. Kyle shrugged, but Stan knew it hurt more than he let on. His relationship with his parents were probably just as bad as Stan’s, but in a different way. Sheila was obnoxiously political, and she was too busy to notice that Kyle was undereating, too focused on getting her husband out of his office after he went haywire and decided to never leave.

‘’Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just sneak out or something,’’ Kyle said, huffily opening his book again, scowling down at the pages.

‘’Alright,’’ Stan sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get anything more out of Kyle about it.

Next walked in Craig, heading straight for the back of the room, not speaking to anyone. He usual style. No one spoke to Craig, who was considered the class bully, though what with current circumstances, everyone was. Craig was the kind of old school knife bearing tormentor that ignored everyone until he didn’t, and then people ended up with stitches and shit. He was also Kyle’s current enemy, taking over from Cartman when he found himself too busy dealing with Wendy’s posse to harass Kyle. Stan is still lost to how it started, and he tries not to get involved, because Craig doesn’t have a beef with Stan, and Stan would like to keep it that way. He’s a crazy son of a bitch.

Class always seemed like a lost cause to them, where even the board of schools gave up on them, and only provided teachers that didn’t give a shit how fucked up they were. Stan didn’t really care, he was just glad assignments weren’t so strict. Kyle still liked paying attention, which was cute to watch, when Stan just couldn’t for the life of him find any enthusiasm. He mostly stared out into nothing, acting like he heard whatever the hell the teachers said, even if he was just feeling the weight of his flask and counting down the minutes before break. Kyle would be angry if he knew what Stan was thinking about, the only thing he could concentrate on during the long stretches of class. When break arrived, Stan was always catapulting out of his seat like a rocket, only pausing to take Kyle’s hand, then continue as far away as he could from the class.

‘’Stan, slow the fuck down,’’ Kyle said, as Stan hurried through the halls and slammed open the back doors to their special area behind school.

‘’God, that took forever,’’ Stan said with a deep huff, leading Kyle over to the abandoned spot. The flask was calling him, but he couldn’t just skull it all down, it had to last until he got home. He plonked himself down on the ground, knees bent, and dug out the flask. Kyle followed suit and sat beside him, frowning as Stan took a sip of the medicine. He ignored Kyle’s looks of disapproval, and let the burning flavour seep down his throat, promising happiness that never failed him. Then Kyle sighed, and starting digging into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He caught Stan staring, and gave him a look.

‘’Well, if you’re gonna violate yourself, I may as well too,’’ Kyle excused, pulling one out of its pack and clamping it between his lips, flicking the lighter until it caught. Stan hated Kyle smoking, hated to think what it was doing to him, but Kyle hated his drinking, and Stan couldn’t quit that, so he supposed it was fair. They sat there in the dark corner of the back area, staring out into the car park, Stan taking sips of his drink, Kyle blowing out puffs of smoke and inhaling it again.

‘’Apparently Kenny’s been fucking Wendy,’’ Stan said, when they were silent and the Jameson’s effect was making Stan start to smile, seeing the sun come out again, as promised. Kyle laughed.

‘’I guess it’s fair fucking justice, that she gets all those disgusting diseases,’’ Kyle said, holding his cigarette with two fingers to Stan. Stan looked at it, and took it from him, taking a drag himself, and immediately coughing it out. Kyle laughed again, taking it back. Stan scowled.

‘’God, dude, how do you put up with it?’’ Stan said, taking another swill to get the taste of ash out his mouth.

‘’It gets easier over time, here. It tastes better if you do it like this,’’ Kyle said, shifting closer to face Stan, and sucking more smoke in.

‘’Open your mouth,’’ Kyle said croakily, holding his breath in. Stan obeyed, and Kyle blew the smoke into his mouth. Stan breathed it in, not finding it any better than before. It just tasted like burning, a worse kind than his medicine.

‘’Better?’’ Kyle asked.

‘’No.’’

‘’How about this?’’ Kyle said, leaning in and kissing Stan. He opened his mouth and licked into him, and Stan tasted the smoke, the bitter flavour that countered with the sweet taste of Kyle that made it bearable. Kyle backed away, looking at Stan expectantly.

‘’Much better,’’ Stan agreed, pulling Kyle into his lap and kissing him again. Kyle dropped his cigarette and let it burn out on the concrete below them, putting his weight completely on Stan and pushing him back against the building wall. Stan moaned in complaint when Kyle grabbed the flask clutched in his hand and gently pulled it out of his grip. Kyle released him with a gasp, pulling away.

‘’No drinking, unless I get to smoke too,’’ Kyle said, putting the flask down and leaning in again. Stan didn’t think that was fair, because the more guilt he felt for Kyle smoking, meant the more guilt he had for drinking too. He didn’t feel guilty for drinking, that was one of the perks, because it felt like one of the only things he could have that made him happy, that didn’t make him feel bad too. Kyle being the other. Kyle licked him again, and Stan put it out of his mind for now.

They kept kissing behind the school as break progressed, and they knew more shit was happening inside, like it always did. They didn’t even care anymore, that they’re classmates were close to killing each other and the whole school over a degree of fucked up things that weren’t even caused by them. Usually they could take credit for things happening in a hilariously complicated fashion, but as time went on, and they stopped being the nucleus of their class, they realised it wasn’t even them. Kyle had various running theories, but Stan just thought it was South Park. This town was cursed or something, and it made things go wrong.

Stan was thinking about this when he remembered the food he packed for Kyle in his bag. He pulled away, and Kyle whined in his throat, breathing heavily with fat lips.

‘’I got you food,’’ Stan said against his lips, licking the bottom one, because it was just so plump and pink from kissing. Kyle groaned, closing his eyes and letting his head drop on Stan’s neck.

‘’I’m not hungry,’’ Kyle muttered.

‘’Bullshit you are. Just try it,’’ Stan said, determined to see him eat it this time. Kyle was just so skinny, and Stan barely ever saw him actually eating, and he knew for a fact he wasn’t being forced at home. His parents were way to wrapped up in their own shit to notice. Kyle didn’t respond, and Stan fetched his bag, pulling out the cookies and fruit bites, and ripping open the bites to feed to him. He took one and put it against Kyle’s lips, and Kyle flicked his eyes up to Stan, then back at the snack, before taking a small tentative bite, chewing thoroughly.

‘’That’s nice,’’ Kyle said when he had one, and Stan brightened, feeding him another. Kyle ate two more, then moaned and said he was full, his face red.

‘’C’mon dude, it’s killing me to see you so small,’’ Stan said, maybe saying too much. Kyle didn’t like it when he started getting emotional, and Stan really needed him to have as much as he could to make his cheeks fuller at least. If he’d had too much to drink, Stan cries about it. When he’s alone of course, in bed at night, when his dad is too plastered and passed out drunk to hear.

‘’I’m naturally like this, I just don’t have an appetite,’’ Kyle denied, turning his head when Stan tried to put another to his lips.

‘’Bullshit. You used to be able to eat as much as me,’’ Stan said, frowning, not understanding why Kyle wouldn’t do what he said. His vision was swaying slightly, but it was good. A nice, humble sway.

‘’Yeah, when we were ten. Things change, Stanley. I’m just not that into food anymore, dude,’’ Kyle said, hugging Stan’s arms.

‘’How can you not be into food? That’s like, necessary for survival,’’ Stan said, frowning. Kyle shrugged.

‘’Can we not talk about it anymore. Let’s just make out until break or something,’’ Kyle said, not meeting Stan’s eyes. In his slightly inebriated state, he was just foggy brained, and he stared at Kyle pleadingly, until Kyle got annoyed and picked his cigarette back up, what was left of it, and took another smoke, still sitting around Stan’s legs.

‘’You’re not going to just give me puppy eyes and expect me to stop,’’ Kyle said, frowning at Stan like he was considering kissing him again, and just taking another drag instead. Stan looked down, and found his flask again, picking it up and tipping it back again.

‘’What’s in it this time?’’ Kyle asked, after more staring and smoking and sipping. Stan shrugged, looking at it. It was a simple metal flask, one he stole from Randy’s collection. There were nicer ones, leather, but Randy might’ve noticed them missing, and probably call the police thinking someone broke in before suspecting Stan was using it.

‘’Just whiskey,’’ Stan said, tilting the flask. Kyle stared at it, and took it from Stan’s hand again. Before Stan could speak his disapproval, to his amazement, Kyle took a swill of it himself, scowling and pushing it back in Stan’s hand.

‘’Ugh, sick. That tastes like gasoline,’’ Kyle said, sticking his tongue out in disgust. Stan grinned.

‘’You like the gasoline on my tongue any other day,’’ Stan said, tipping Kyle’s face toward him with his nose. Kyle was still vaguely making an unimpressed face as Stan kissed him again, but dropped it again when he opened his mouth for his tongue.

‘’It only tastes good on you,’’ Kyle said, quietly like he was embarrassed for admitting it. Stan kissed him again, more passionately for it. Stan loved him so so much. Kyle was a real asshole though. But he loved him so so much. Stan heard the alcohol in his thoughts, but just ignored it, kept kissing him until the imposing bell rang through their ears and forced them apart.

The rest of the day was depressing, because Stan couldn’t refill his happiness, making it fade the more sober he became. By last period he was vaguely considering faking being sick so he could go home early, then trashing the ideas, because it was too much effort to even do that. A fight broke out between Cartman and Wendy during class, the teacher too dumb to resolve it, which meant only one thing for them. Stan made sure to avoid the janitors closet outside the classroom to be safe.

He caught Kyle leaving his last class when school let out. He had AP English, and Stan headed over to him, thinking about going home together. Kyle saw him and frowned, like he knew Stan was thinking about it.

‘’I’m grounded remember?’’ Kyle said, as they headed outside the building, where the other students were buzzing around like blurry bees. Stan might have a lingering buzz, but it was too insignificant to notice.

‘’I could come to your house? Through the window or something,’’ Stan suggested, just wanting to be close to him. He hated being alone of an afternoon, because that’s when he wanted more than sips of Irish whiskey. It made him want to raid Randy’s collection, which was only a confirmation in his mind that he was finally turning into his father, he tried so hard to resist, to be as little like him as he could. And oops, looks like it’s too late. Randy Jr. That’s what his dad originally wanted to call him, but thank the stars his beautiful mom drowned that kitten in the water before it made concrete steps to happening.

‘’I don’t want you anyway near my family right now, even if you stay in my room,’’ Kyle said, exchanging a look with him. Stan understood, Kyle didn’t want Stan to see what he was exposed to, why he hated it so much, even if Stan knew. But Stan didn’t want to be in his own house either. Where else was there to go? Kenny’s? His family was a crack den of problems Stan and Kyle should be lucky not to experience. He was just so sick of stupid parents, stupid adults. They’ve fucked their children into oblivion. And they can’t even recognise it before their very eyes. Sometimes Stan wants to make a big gay speech to the adults to get them to understand and learn their lesson with a heartfelt moral, and make things better again. But he’s given up now, everyone has. It’s a pointless cause, doing the right thing. It’s been drained out of them the older they became, and just couldn’t keep the old thing going any longer. The days repeat as before, but now everything bad that happened doesn’t get wiped. They don’t get a clean canvas to start over. They’re just left with the mess they didn’t solve the day before.

Stan thinks about it more deeply, and with more melancholy, as he walks home with Kyle, trudging through the partly sludge snow on the path, partly listening to Kyle as he smokes and talks about a scientific principle he learnt about that Stan doesn’t understand but nods along to anyway. The cloud cover makes everything seem greyer, or maybe that’s just Stan. He won’t have another drink until he’s secured up alone in his room, and he’ll stay there all afternoon, only coming downstairs for leftover dinner in the fridge, ignoring his drunk excuse of a father the whole time. Stan glances at Kyle again, remembering him as a kid. He was still a know-it-all, but he was compassionate and kind to people, and didn’t give up on a cause, even if everyone else did. Now he was more quiet and bitter, angry most days towards other people, unprovoked, and then there was the eating. He had always been thin and lithe, but now his skinny frame couldn’t be considered anything resembling healthy. And he refused Stan’s offers to get him fed. Stan tried anyway, and if the most he could get was a measly few bites of dried fruit. Kyle was always a bitch about it, and about his smoking habits, and Stan found the more he thought about his growing mania, the more he wanted to scull beer after beer, then hard liquor.

They walked to Kyle’s house first, and stopped just out of distance of the front window. Sheila has spied in the past, and she wouldn’t approve of Stan nearby when Kyle’s in trouble. Usually him and his mother are just angry walls screaming at each other, so it’s hard to tell who’s in the right. Stan usually leaned on Kyle’s side, just because he’s lost faith in adults being right years ago.

‘’You’ll be alright in there?’’ Stan asked as they said their goodbyes, and Stan would have to go home alone, and deal with Randy.

‘’Yeah. Mom’s a bitch, but I’ll just ignore her and stay in my room. Maybe I’ll get high with Ike, if nothing else. He’s always with that weird goth kid though, I don’t even want to know what they get up to in that pot den,’’ Kyle shook his head, worrying his hands in Stan’s, the cigarette thrown out into the snow already. His parents didn’t know he smoked, another thing that made Stan angry. They couldn’t even take their heads out of their asses for two seconds to smell the smoke on Kyle when he got home. Kyle seemed similarly annoyed, and Stan couldn’t help wonder if that’s why he did it, a last kind of attempt to get some of the love they stopped handing out when their own problems and jobs became more important than their children.

‘’Come over if you need to,’’ Stan said seriously, and Kyle looked up and smiled. He leant up and softly kissed Stan, and Stan held his waist close. Kyle released him with lowered eyes, sighing out.

‘’Stay sober tonight for me,’’ Kyle whispered against his lips. Stan stared, wondering himself if he could keep that promise. He nodded anyway, because even if the world sucked, and their lives sucked, and everything was shit, Stan would still do whatever Kyle wanted him to, no matter what. That’s the one thing that’s never changed. Kyle’s never told him to stop drinking altogether because it’s his crutch against the world, and smoking is Kyle’s. They all needed something nowadays, and it can’t be taken away without going insane or committing suicide. They know because it’s happened before.

‘’I love you,’’ Stan said, knowing that Kyle would think he’s confessing drunk again. He’s done it before, and it’s usually Kyle’s tell-tale sign that Stan is off his face. But right now, he’s never felt more sober, and he can tell Kyle knows it.

‘’Yeah, I know. Me too,’’ Kyle said, smiling again sadly, before releasing Stan’s grip and walking over the snowed front lawn of his house and going to the front door. Stan watched him enter the house with hands in his pockets, and stood there for a while, thinking, until he got paranoid Sheila was watching him. He didn’t want Kyle getting in more trouble. Stan walked away, heading up the street to his own house. He walked slowly, trying to delay the inevitable as soon as he entered the foyer, which would make him want to break his promise and get shit-faced.

Stan stayed standing in the snow as he stared at his house, the green paint fading and chipping in places outside. The driveway was unshovelled, but Randy hasn’t shovelled a driveway since Stan was in seventh grade, so he wasn’t expecting anything different. Stan usually did it himself, and decided to do it now, even if it was pointless in the afternoon. It would snow again during the night, and have to be done again in the morning for Randy to get his car out for work, if he even bothered. Stan didn’t have to do it now, but he felt it was preferable to being inside, just doing menial outside labour to kill time until he could go to bed. Usually he just got drunk to pass time, but he wanted to stay faithful to Kyle, so he picked up the shovel wedged between the house and fence, and got to work.

It was peaceful, the only sound being the crunch of the snow as the shovel picked it up, and the only feeling Stan concentrated on was pure sensation, the biting freeze of his cheeks as the cold wind cut his skin like a million microscopic needles. He wasn’t thinking about any of his problems, anything troubling him, just throwing snow over his shoulder and clearing a clean space for a car to exit. Only simple thoughts escaped him, like how much he enjoyed this, and could make it a hobby, or even a job. Something outside, because nature never failed to calm him. He was even smiling as he cleared the last of the snow, and looked over his work with proud eyes.

The temporary glee from such a labouring and rewarding project was just that- temporary. As soon as he came inside, brushing snow off and thinking about hot steamy showers, reality hit him again, and reminded him that he can’t have things so easy and simple.

His father was on the ground, a bottle of red wine in his hand, pouring out into the carpet and making a mess. Randy was slurring, incognizant to the point that Stan suspected he was dead, or having a stroke. But it was possible, so Stan quickly threw his bag down and collapsed to the ground, checking his dad’s breathing to make sure he was still alive. He was breathing, but he was unconscious, so Stan pulled out his phone and didn’t hesitate to call 911, taking the wine from Randy’s hand and standing it up away from him, though he was in no state to get it again and start chugging.

Stan’s heart was pounding loud between his chest when they finally responded, and Stan explained the situation with what information he had, trying not to sound subjective and just tell them the facts. He couldn’t very well spout to paramedics that his deadbeat father had finally lost the plot with depression from his divorce and tried to kill himself with his particular kryptonite alcoholic beverage of red wine. They told him they’d arrive very soon anyway, and Stan put the phone down and tried to get Randy in a better position. He remembered something in health class to turn them on their side so they don’t choke on their tongue, so Stan heaved his dad over, grunting with the effort. It was hard to notice he’d really stacked on the pounds too, but it was hard to tell if it was age related, or divorce related. Stan guessed the latter, because his problems really only presented afterwards. Why did his dad even think he’d be in any condition to care for a child? Stan was only thirteen years old at the time, just a kid. Stan put it out of his mind for now, just trying to regulate his pumping heartbeat and fear. It was weird that thinking about, even fantasising about his father dying, was always blissful. But the actual possibility now of it happening, Stan was freaking out, and fearing what the hell he’d do if he got stuck on his own. Would they make him move to Denver with his mom? The thought now made him vaguely sick to his stomach, mostly at the thought of moving, away from Kyle, and Kenny, and the people he grew up with.

Stan didn’t have to torture himself with hypotheticals for long, the paramedics arrived, and pushed Stan out of the picture, crowding Randy on the floor, and pulling out equipment. Stan was watching with wide eyes as two of them crouched by Randy, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

‘’We just had some questions about your father, to help understand the situation,’’ one of the paramedics said, apologetically, as though Stan was traumatised, which. He didn’t even know.

‘’Yeah- yeah sure,’’ Stan said, nodding, forcing his eyes away from Randy as they turned him onto his back and supported his head with a pillow from the couch.

So Stan explained his father’s long abuse with alcohol, marijuana and depression. He also brought up the divorce, because it felt so inextricably linked to everything wrong that it had to be connected, and the core root, though maybe not. He talked about it with the paramedic, and they nodded along respectfully, asking questions where it was due, or where Stan was too vague. It was surprisingly easy to discuss this with a stranger, though he could never imagine discussing this with anyone he knew. They eventually got Randy to wake up, diagnosing it alcohol poisoning, giving him water and keeping him monitored. They were there all afternoon, and they were telling Stan what to do for next time, and when they left.

‘’You need to try and keep him awake if he shows these symptoms again, and keep him on his side in the recovery position. Water is vital, and make sure he drinks it after consciousness, for a few hours to be safe. Stay with him when he’s like this, but I’d also suggest a mental health plan for Randy, to prevent over drinking on this scale. You said this was a common thing with him, so I’d get onto that straight away. We can recommend services to assist you if you’d like.’’

Stan was overwhelmed with information, and emotions be could barely keep to himself. He accepted their recommendations anyway, wondering how the hell he could convince Randy to attend any of them. He wouldn’t, it was a lost cause. Stan didn’t want to go through this shit anymore, it was too fucking scary. He wanted his mom, actually, right now, and he wondered if he could call her. She’d worry if he told her what happened here, and Stan didn’t want to burden her. She was the one who paid child support. Randy didn’t, because Shelley was over eighteen now. Hell, even Stan missed Shelley now, though they’d never been close. Staring at a recovering Randy drinking water on the floor, being spoken to like a child who did well by the paramedic, made Stan feel way too old. Made him want a drink. He glanced at the shelves of liquor at the dining table, but didn’t go over to retrieve any.

Eventually, the ambulance guys left, having discerned Randy didn’t need to be hospitalised, and left instructions for Stan. Stan wondered if they even understood he was just a teenage boy, not Randy’s dad, or his brother. His fucking son, who was in no condition to be taking care if this drunken pitiable fool. Randy sat on the ground, keeping a blanket up on himself, staring out into nothing. He looked like he hadn’t had a shower in days.

‘’Stan?’’ Randy called to him when Stan just loitered at the staircase, wondering what the hell to do now.

‘’Yeah, dad?’’ Stan answered, walking over and crouching down to him. Randy held his blankets up higher, avoiding Stan’s eyes.

‘’Did I ever tell you I’m proud of you,’’ Randy said. Stan was surprised.

‘’When I was younger, I guess,’’ Stan said, shrugging.

‘’Well, I am, son. I’m proud of you, you’ve become a man,’’ Randy said. Stan figured he was experiencing a mega hangover, and he’d be exhausted, dizzy, not sure what he was saying. Randy hadn’t even seen Stan past his own bottle, he didn’t know that he’d driven Stan to his own addictions. He was too far gone to see him now, even as he looked Stan in the eye. Stan supressed the urge to yell at him, his eyes burning as he stood back up, and left the room. Let his failure of a father look after his own hangover. Stan didn’t have to do shit for him. When had Randy done anything for Stan but drive him to become exactly what Stan hated? He didn’t deserve to call Stan a man, because he’d missed so much that he couldn’t recognise how much older Stan was if he tried. He was still seeing the thirteen year old that depended on him, before he lost hope, before reality gave him a cold hard glare and made him accept the truth that he was all alone.

Stan went to his bedroom, and called him mom immediately, feeling too alone. Kyle wouldn’t be able to help him like he wanted to helped right now, which was really just a motherly hug, and some advice for how to get through. Mostly he wanted to hear her calm voice again, which was increasingly starting to feel like only a memory, and he’d never hear it again. He was anxious as the line finally connected, and her voice was heard, soothing Stan like the tonic he knew it would be.

‘’Mom?’’ Stan said, sounding so raw and young.

‘’Hi Stanley, is everything okay?’’ his mom asked. Stan sighed out, lying on the bed with his sludgy shoes still on.

‘’Dad had an episode, I had to call the ambulance,’’ Stan said, covering his face.

‘’Oh god, what happened? Is he okay?’’

‘’Yeah, now. It was alcohol again. I really miss you,’’ Stan blurted. He heard a sad noise through the phone.

‘’Oh, honey, I miss you too, so much. Are you okay?’’ she asked.

‘’No. I don’t want to live with Randy anymore. I’m not happy here, but I don’t want to leave Kyle, and I don’t know what to do. And dad expects me to look after him by giving me meaningless words of praise worth nothing, and I don’t want to,’’ Stan said all at once, getting it out before he lost the nerve to discuss any of it. The other line was silent for a few seconds, and Stan worried that his mother didn’t want to hear anything about this.

‘’Oh, _baby_ ,’’ The word, _baby_ , was uttered so softly and reverently that it held a thousand promises, it held all the understanding that Stan needed. His mom knew, she knew, she understood. He wasn’t completely alone in his family.

‘’I just want things to go back to before,’’ Stan said, blinking back tears.

‘’I know, baby. I know. Would you like me to come and see you?’’ she asked softly, making Stan breath heavier. He didn’t want to cry, he’s done it too much. He just wants to hear his mothers voice, the only adult he trusts anymore.

‘’They won’t let you. I don’t want you to break the rules and go out of your way, I just love you, I want you to know,’’ Stan said, struggling to hold it in.

‘’I love you too Stanley, more than anything. I’ll do anything for you, honey, just know that, even if I’m not close by right now.’’

‘’I want a hug,’’ Stan said, bursting into tears into the phone, and from there their conversation became blubbery words between apologising and crying about how much they both wanted that. His mom was more controlled in her emotions, and Stan was like a tsunami of tears, apologising, and slightly horrified that he’s reduced his mother to tears with his problems that she wasn’t aware of until now. He didn’t mean to talk about it, but it slipped out, just like all the secrets he held clutched to his chest were coaxed out of him by her soft words and warm presence. He talked about school, about his drinking, he went on about Kyle, and how his parents don’t care about him anymore. He would probably regret going into it when Sheila got contacted by Sharon about it and caused an uproar, but it was largely linked to his current stress and he needed to get someone’s sensible opinion, one that didn’t include Kyle’s biased perspective. His mom used to be close friends with the Broflovski’s, so she knew what they were like, and how easy it was for them to go off the radar with their issues. They were on the phone for around an hour or more, discussing this and turning Stan’s hysterical sadness back to manageable levels. This is what he really wanted, just discussing everything until it was gone from hiding in his chest, eating at his organs until he was northing but a husk. He felt lighter when he ended the conversation, his mom promising she would see him on Saturday, his assigned visitation time with her. It felt like a long time for that hug, but it was only a few days. He could sustain himself until then, he was confident. Mostly.

Stan didn’t go back downstairs, not wanting to see Randy and revert back to his dark mind state. He stayed up in his room, scrolling through shit on his phone, trying to get tired so he could go to sleep. If he went any earlier, he wouldn’t sleep all night. He vaguely considered using the battle in his drawer to help, then remembered Kyle’s words, and his hypothetical heartbreak if Stan broke it. He couldn’t bear even think about it, so he turned away from the drawer and pushed it out of his mind.

It was dark outside, and Stan was resembling something close to sleep, drooling a little on his pillow, when he heard scratches at his window. It could be a raccoon or something, caught in the tree beside the window, but that was weird. Stan turned over to face the window, sitting up fast when he saw that it was Kyle, trying to open the window from the outside. Stan scrambled out of bed, heart beating faster, suddenly wanting Kyle more than anything. He dashed over to the window and unlocked it, and Kyle didn’t even make it fully inside before he collided with Stan, kissing him and pushing him backwards. Then he was completely in, and he was pushing Stan back, hitting his bed and falling down on his back as Kyle crawled over him, licking his mouth open hungrily. He pulled away for split seconds, panting hard like he ran the whole way here, and brushed Stan’s cheek.

‘’You’ve been crying?’’ Kyle asked softly, pressing kisses to his cheeks as if to dry them.

‘’I was on the phone with my mom, after my dad nearly killed himself again,’’ Stan said, knowing Kyle would understand immediately. He did, nodding and pressing his lips to Stan’s eyelids, kissing one, then the other.

‘’You didn’t drink tonight?’’ Kyle asked.

‘’No,’’ Stan said, somewhat proudly, though he realised now why Kyle asked him not to. He refused to fuck when Stan was drunk, which was one of the biggest reasons he restrained himself from being drunk all the time. So Kyle must have had it in mind tonight, must have planned to sneak out late anyway. Stan distantly wondered what Kyle would’ve done if he had been drinking, if he would just leave, or give Stan another lecture. Then he just couldn’t give a damn as Kyle brushed his erection over Stan’s as he kissed him again.

Kyle sat up again and shucked off his jacket, sitting around Stan’s legs as Stan realised he was still wearing his snow coat from outside, and took it off. Kyle kissed him again, trying to get his shirt off over his head as he fumbled with Stan’s jeans, trying to pull them down while they kissed and bit at each other’s mouths.

‘’Sit up,’’ Kyle commanded, kneading Stan’s crotch as he pulled his jeans down. Despite feeling brutally sad earlier, this was a good distraction, and Kyle knew it, which only made him more grateful. They were both hard, that was always the way when they snuck into each other’s rooms, there was usually less talking than frantically rutting and kissing. Stan thought about the first time, it was at night like this, when they were thirteen. Stan had been depressed about his mother leaving him behind, though he understood at the time it wasn’t her choice, and he asked Kyle to come over through the window to keep him company. He didn’t want Kyle near his dad, Randy was his mortal enemy at the time. Kyle saw him lying in bed with a hopeless expression, and didn’t hesitate to join him. He’s never actually managed to think about Kyle in any way but his best friend before that, but as soon as he joined him under the covers, hiding away from the world with him, Stan wanted him to be there forever, to be everything that Stan needed. Kyle seemed to want that too, given their lack of hesitation when they hugged the cold night away, legs intertwined. When they woke up in the morning, they both had raging boners, and that was his epiphany. They took care of them together, like true amateurs, and forever afterward, kissing in the aftermath.

Stan thought about how far they’ve come since then, as they threw their clothes off and Kyle rode him with teenaged desperation that they both needed to combat everything else. He was so far inside Kyle, and Kyle just groaned and tipped his head back, bouncing onto him, tilting himself for more as Stan laid back and pushed his hips up to meet Kyle’s pace.

The air in the room was cold, the heater wasn’t on, but he was sweating anyway, remembering he never had that shower after shovelling the driveway. He’d have one afterwards, with Kyle, and they’d collapse back into the bed where they’d sleep like panda bears. Kyle usually spent the night when he came over, and snuck back to his house early in the morning to avoid trouble with his mother.

Stan flipped Kyle over onto the bed with a thump, and Kyle moaned, blinking his eyes open with a dazed face, moving his head up like he wanted to be kissed through it. Stan complied, licking him thoroughly as he fucked into him thoroughly, making the bed squeak, and Kyle squeak. Which was the cutest fucking thing, making Stan groan and lose it, making a more frantic pace as he fucked Kyle’s ass. Kyle’s legs tightened around his waist, and Stan felt their boniness, feeling so upset about that for a moment, before pushing that out of his mind too. He would worry about that later, and he wouldn’t give up trying to give Kyle the nutrition he needs, even if Kyle refuses him every time. He’s forever Stan’s to look after, because they made that promise years ago when they hugged each other through their problems, making wordless claims to always be there. It didn’t matter that everything else was shit, and everyone around them was shit. Kyle as the point, what kept him from doing what Randy’s done to himself.

After they both came, Kyle on Stan’s stomach and the sheets, and Stan inside Kyle, they took a moment to breath before getting up for a shower. Though there wasn’t much risk Randy discovering Kyle here in his current state, they still snuck through the upstairs hallway, careful not to make noise, just in case. The hot steam from the water felt like a cleanser, momentarily making them sparkle with newness and innocence. For a few glorious minutes, Stan was no longer a hopeless alcoholic like his father, and Kyle was no longer an anorexic smoker addicted to nicotine. They were just teenage boyfriends revelling in their soulmateship that would never fade like everything around them. Kyle rest his head on Stan shoulder as the water beat down over them and sighed like he was revelling these short moments before reality caught up, and reminded them that this wasn’t the case. Stan held him anyway, believing now that it was.

Back in bed, they held each other just as tightly as the first time. This was important to Stan, but nothing monumental. They were always wishing, regretting, wanting do-overs and imagining a better life. Reality was a bitch, and always made sure their hope was left in the plane of fantasy, and nothing more. But this was the way things were now, and they just made the most of their fucked situation, because reality made sure to keep them here, dealing with their problems. They dreamed, but that was it.


	2. tEENaGerS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't think I could get darker?
> 
> My darlings, you've got no fucking idea.
> 
> Leave comments! Tell me how scarred you've become!! We've only just begun...

KYLE

Kyle had nightmares nearly every night. Usually when he was sleeping alone in his bed, but they always came around in jagged footprints of his mind, edging into his memories like a tape recorder he inhabits. The dreams are always about the past. Sometimes they were about corporations taking him from his bed in the middle of the night, sometimes they were about aliens taking him in the middle of the night. Sometimes Kyle was ripped apart savagely by a giant bear-like creature. The result of these dreams were always the same thing; screaming and crying and kicking away the blankets of his bed, trying to fight off whoever was trying to get him. No one was, no one was ever in his room. His mother never heard his screams at night. Or if she did, she didn’t care enough to help. Sometimes Ike did, and he appreciated when Ike would run in to hug his whimpers quiet more than he ever let on. Sometimes Kyle wondered if Ike was the only person who actually cared about him in his family, and he would always shake those thoughts off until he actually saw his mother, not caring, not loving him like she used to, and he would realise it’s true. She hasn’t loved her children since his dad shut himself off from the world and became a real troll. Literally, he was an internet troll, and he never left his office. Mom would bring him meals, and when Kyle happened to hear, the response would always be a hiss. He didn’t resurface as a human being, and Kyle had made his peace that he was as good as dead.

Tonight he had a reoccurring dream that’s come up for the last seven years. He was taken and had his mouth surgically sewn together, but he could still taste the blood from the job on his tongue. He couldn’t eat, so they stuffed a tube up between the cracks of his sewn lips, and forced mush down his throat, making him choke and regurgitate it, but it had nowhere to go, but back down. He was forced like that, with tasteless mush flooded into his throat, only for him to vomit it up and be forced to swallow it, again, and again. He was tied up on a surgical bed this whole time, and he couldn’t utter a sound, nobody would hear him. When he muffled pleads to stop, they would mistake what he said for wanting more, and then the actual memory surfaced into the dream, shocking him awake, screaming, begging them to stop, that he didn’t read the agreements before he signed. _And he’s sorry! He’ll do it next time! Please._

Kyle gasped and blinked back the tears falling down his cheeks, sitting up in his bed, awake now, trying to regulate his slamming heart. It felt like it was going to explode out his chest, and it made his shoulders jerk harder as he sobbed, covering his hands, trying to get a goddamn grip, and failing. He shouldn’t be crying, because that was for people who needed help, and got it. He was way past that, and crying wouldn’t solve any of his problems. They only made a mess, they only made him weak. Only pussies cried, and Kyle was not a pussy. His dad was wrong, he wasn’t one. He wasn’t.

Kyle continued to sob despite telling himself not to, unable to suppress anything after such a close to real nightmare. He feels like it’s happened before, and it probably has, which only makes it happening again an ever possible threat. It could happen to begin with, so he couldn’t reassure himself with; it was just a dream, bullshit. It could happen, nobody’s safe. He hasn’t used an apple appliance since fifth grade, no matter what. Push notifications to update came up all the time, and it gave Kyle panic attacks, and reading the millions of pages of fine print made it worse, because what if he skipped over something? He could be taken away, and nobody could do anything about it. No, it was safer to stay away from it entirely.

Having such a vivid reimagination of things he does well to supress whenever he’s not asleep, makes it impossible to get back to sleep, so he doesn’t attempt it most of the time. His heart’s still beating fast, blood pumping into his face and fingertips, and he kicks off the blankets, and swings his legs off the side of the bed. This is the hardest part, but he has to think about anything else in order to get those unwanted memories back into the locked drawer under his brain. They aren’t allowed out when he’s conscious, or who knows what the fuck will happen. He’ll probably kill himself, that’s what he’ll do if he thinks about it, at all.

Kyle stands up and puts his jacket on over his pyjamas, silently creeping to the door and getting out of that demon room. He hates it in there, but compared to the rest of the house, it’s preferable. The rest of the house are where the people who’ve renounced him habit. He can call them his parents, sure, but they stopped being that when Gerald went insane and stopped being a human.

He sometimes misses his mom, wants her overprotective nature that he always took for granted as a kid, anything really. She’s only protective of her dead husband, or the thing that stays in the office now. Her children are irrelevant to the picture. Kyle glanced at her bedroom, which was open, as though her husband would finally come out and fall asleep beside her again. Hilarious.

She was asleep, motionless, and Kyle continued to the bathroom, closing the door softly. He flicked the light on and went right to the sink, filling a glass of water and flushing it down his throat thirstily. His clothes were stuck to his skin from a cold sweat, which felt gross, but Kyle couldn’t shower until morning, when the rest of the world awoke. He looked at himself in the mirror, making sure his lips weren’t sewn together. They were a little chapped, but nothing other than that. Then the rest of himself. His red curls were matted by sleep and sweat, sticking up in awkward places. He didn’t attempt to fix them, knowing it was pointless. He leaned in close to see his eyes. They looked tired, Kyle felt tired, but the same green as before. He touched his cheek, feeling the sharpness of his cheekbone. Stan was right, they were gaunt.

He couldn’t help that, he couldn’t help any of it. Just thinking about food right now was sickening, because it reminded him too much of the tube. Oh fuck.

He was thinking about the dream, about the memory, and like a desperate attempt to purge the unpleasant thoughts, he was lifting up the toilet lid, dropping to his knees, and shoving his finger down his throat to get rid of everything. He didn’t want anything inside him, attached to his lips, fucking anything. It had to go, and he moaned with relief after he vomited up the remains of his stomach, the lunch Stan coaxed him to eat. Fucking all of it.

His mouth tasted gross, and Kyle flushed the toilet and crawled back to the sink, washing his mouth out with water and spitting it out, all of it. He wished there was a medical advancement that people could inject themselves with that negated requiring food at all, forever. Kyle would give anything for that, fucking anything. Except Stan, he doesn’t count.

When Kyle left the bathroom again, and didn’t go back to his room. He opted for Ike’s room, and slid inside quietly, eyeing his mother’s room once more. Ike’s room was a mess, and always hazy with the pot he smoked up here. That’s what Kyle needed now, to get back to sleep without dreaming. Ike was a lump on the twin bed, obscured by blankets, but Kyle didn’t wake him. He headed to Ike’s bedside table, slowly and carefully pulling it open, and snatching the small stash he knew Ike kept there.

He kept his eyes on Ike, knowing he was a light sleeper, and could wake to the slightest things. Once he had the mission item secured in his hand, he slunk away, pausing for a moment when he realised something. There were two lumps in the bed, and Ike may be growing into a giant, but he isn’t that wide. Kyle leaned closer, and widened his eyes when he realised someone else was there, in bed with him. Now was the not the time to be curious, but Kyle couldn’t help it, and went to the other side of the bed, and tried to figure out who the other lump in the blankets was. He couldn’t very well lift the blankets to see, or could he? No, that’s psychotic, and Kyle quickly got out of there, dark and quiet like a panther.

He snuck through the hallway with the treasure in his hand, and back into his room. Once he had his door safely closed, and hopped back up to his bed, he was already decidedly better than earlier. It was always worse at first, when he woke up to the vivid images. The promise of the marijuana was enough to placate him until morning. He didn’t waste time, and got out his lighter from his pocket, rolling the handful of grass into paper and lighting it, putting it to his lips.

The instant relief of the smoke was good, nearly the same effect as the nicotine, and it was the only thing he’d ever allow to enter his body. That and Stan’s cock. But he was looking for the high this time, not just the calming tonic of the smoke intruding his lungs. He needed sleep, because any sleep deprived dickhole at school was eaten alive and chewed out like the pathetic worms they were. Kyle stayed home from school if he was feeling even a little weary. With assholes like Craig and Cartman around and looking for a fight, Kyle had to have eyes at the back of his head whenever he wasn’t in the presence of Stan. They didn’t fuck with Stan, partly because he was a hippie passivist, partly because he was tall and strong, and could easily take them. Kyle unfortunately, was not. He could punch as well as any fucker with half a brain, but he had to use his small size to his advantage, what with Craig using fucking knives, and Cartman using his legion of slaves as weapons.

Kyle fell back on his pillow, smoking long breaths of the pot and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were lowering, which was good, but he kept smoking anyway. He thought about the lump in Ike’s bed. Ike was thirteen, but he was the most sexually mature person Kyle’s ever known, so if he was fucking whoever was sharing a bed with him, Kyle wouldn’t offer more than; use condoms you dumb shit, or something. Not that he’s ever used them with Stan, which is hypocritical, but whatever. They don’t have to, because they’ve only ever had each other, and they’re so soul bonded that it wouldn’t make a difference if Stan was fucking him bareback, or with a wrapped dick. It saves them money in the end, that can be used for other things.

Kyle’s like sixty percent sure Ike’s straight. He hangs out with a goth boy named Firkle all the time, and whenever Kyle smokes with him, there he is, the little black clad dude smoking and crouching near the bed, scowling at Kyle and spouting Satanic shit if he gets high enough. Kyle’s never really asked, just assumed they were smoking buddies or something, but he watches them talk when they’re all high in that hazy bedroom, and he starts getting ideas that they might be an old married couple. Kyle has to be pretty gone by then to think that, though.

He’s pretty gone now, and wondered if he would’ve lifted the blanket covers to find a black haired goth in bed with Ike. Kyle didn’t even know if they were naked, but he can’t really judge. At their age, Kyle was doing a lot worse, really. He tried closing his eyes, but his mind is still wandering, wanting to go back to what needs to be burned and thrown away. He takes a long drag, sucking in as much as he can and holding it. He can hold his breath for ages, so he makes the most out that gift, before blowing the smoke back out into the room, to be forgotten in the cold night air. He tucked himself back under the blanket, straight on his back, and kept his eyes closed, breathing out. He didn’t really want to think about anything, good or bad. He’d like to be nothing, and everything. A plane of existence that can be seen and heard, but not possible to exist anyway, because what does exist? He learnt that from the psychology and philosophy books he read in excess as a kid. He’d learnt that the tooth fairy wasn’t real, and he wanted out of this reality. And it happened, he studied as much as he could find, and it worked, he became all and nothing at once. What he would give to do that again. The things he would do. His shame is gone, so he has no reservations. But that kind of thing can’t happen again, he’s tried. He wasted his chance, and rejected being, not living, not dying, being. Fucking idiot, he was, still is.

Sleep approaches in calm filtered waves, the kind of thing he yearns for every other night without requiring drugs to achieve it. But he can’t, he gets the nightmares otherwise. He let the sleep overtake him, and satiate him into a calm puddle, putting out the joint on his ashtray on the bedside table. He may be fucked up, but he knows- now, not to let a smoke burn. It can catch to anything, even schools!

Kyle slept soundly this time, and woke up in the morning to his alarm, beeping into his ear. He was still groggy, but like a good kid that died years ago, he got out of bed anyway. He had to make alternate routes this morning, so he had to go early before class started. It was seven in the morning on the clock, blaring green in a way that made his eyes fuzzy. He might need glasses, but no way in hell is he going to get them.

He packed everything for school up in his room, avoiding the rest of the house as long as possible. He opened his window to let the smoke out still lingering from last night, though he knew his mother wasn’t going into his room any time soon. He didn’t like it staying there anyway, unlike Ike’s room, which was just pure haze now. He needed to feel clean, if that wasn’t actually the case.

He spent a long time in the shower, standing under it and letting the feeling of hot water patter down hard on his face. He jerked off, just for an excuse to stay under longer, before he had to face reality again. He always felt guilty afterwards, not really sure why, and that was a good enough excuse to finally get out, the cold sweat from the night purged from his skin, and squeaky clean again to dirty as the day progressed.

He passed his dad’s office on the way out, and he glanced at it for a second, wondering if he should go in. Then, rebelliously, he decided he would, and carefully edged the door open, peering into the dark room. It smelt horrible, like the time the four of the guys stayed down in Cartman’s basement and played WoW for weeks on end. Cartman used his mom as a literal shit collector, and the four overweight boys with no lives smelt exactly like that, no lives, like a corpse. Kyle edged his head further in, glancing around the room, which was mostly empty. Then he spotted it, in the very corner across from him, obscured by the desk chair, a growth crouching on the floor, wearing flannel pyjamas. It was holding an iPad, and a glass of wine. Kyle couldn’t even say that’s the craziest thing he’s ever seen. Then it suddenly turned, its head towards Kyle, wearing a pallid skin and overgrown beard, red eyes only illuminated by the flash of the screen. Kyle stared in shock, and it opened its mouth, bearing its teeth and hissing at Kyle with a voice similar to a man he used to look up to. Kyle quickly shut the door again, and hightailed straight downstairs, not looking back. Kyle was disgusted, and he couldn’t fathom his mother keeping such a pest in their house, even going on to feed it and give it wine like it was a human. That parasite had long lost all humanity.

Trying to put it in the locked drawer with everything else, Kyle headed to the kitchen, where Ike was sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal, his head bent down. There was a meal made on the table. Kosher breakfast, hilarious. His mother must have cooked it before she ran off to work. She didn’t have a real job, she volunteered as a political activist, in a group that travelled and made spirited rants about whatever the fuck they thought should change in the country. Kyle sat down anyway, staring at it with equal parts disgust and queasiness. Ike’s slurping noises as he ate were enough to fully discourage Kyle at attempting it.

He sighed and pushed it away, wondering who he could give it to today. He wasn’t in the business of throwing away food, because they were so many poor fuckers at school like Kenny and his family, who would literally murder Kyle if they knew he trashed anything edible. Kyle sometimes packed it for Kenny, but he couldn’t trust Kenny not to tell Stan, and Stan’s heart would break if he knew. So Kyle gave it to Ike, who transported it to Kenny’s sister Karen, who were in the same class, Ike having skipped another grade to compete for his genius. Kenny would appreciate it if he knew anyway, and maybe not tell Stan about it in respect.

‘’So who was in your bed last night?’’ Kyle asked, turning his attention back on Ike. Ike looked up at him, frowning.

‘’How do you know about that?’’ Ike asked, narrowing his eyes. Kyle shrugged, fiddling with the fork beside the plate.

‘’I couldn’t sleep,’’ Kyle said, knowing Ike would understand that he needed some of his supply to combat the nightmares. Ike huffed, taking another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and staring at Kyle.

‘’You won’t tell mom?’’ Ike asked. Kyle snorted.

‘’Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? So who was it?’’

Ike made a vague noise and focused back on his cereal, frowning at it.

‘’It was Firkle,’’ Ike muttered, avoiding Kyle’s eyes. Kyle guffawed.

‘’You’re shitting me! You’re fucking that goth kid? I thought it was just me,’’ Kyle said, grinning now, though he wouldn’t fully process this until he actually saw it. Ike scowled at him, and Kyle revelled in it. Something finally bothered Ike, which in itself was a glowing victory for Kyle.

‘’No, I’m not,’’ Ike said.

‘’Please tell me you were using condoms,’’ Kyle said, hoping Ike was smarter than that. Ike glared at him.

‘’It was just a sleepover. You and Stan had sleepovers at my age.’’ Kyle raised his eyebrows at that, finding that laughable.

‘’Yeah, I was also losing my virginity, so you can’t compare,’’ Kyle said, pointing at him.

‘’Says to the guy who lost his when he was three,’’ Ike muttered, turning back to his cereal.

‘’God, shut up about it. I can’t hear that shit,’’ Kyle said, pinching his eyes shut. He couldn’t have any reminders of it, it just brought back other unwanted things.

‘’Just don’t make a big deal out of it, I swear you guys overreact about everything,’’ Ike said, rolling his eyes. Kyle scoffed, poking at the breakfast on the plate before him with a fork. The effort of this was half-assed, because his mother didn’t even know if he was eating her meals. He never did, but she was none the wiser. He didn’t even hide it anymore.

‘’So are you guys fucking? Dating? Hopelessly in denial of your feelings but fooling around regardless?’’ Kyle wondered. Ike was a pretty chill guy, so he doubted he would have the kind of gay crisis Kyle had when he was younger, hopelessly devoted to Stan and confident Stan would never get in the same bed as him again if he knew what wicked thoughts flew through Kyle’s head when they had sleepovers.

‘’Can’t a guy just get high with his friend and feel too tired to go home afterwards?’’ Ike suggested.

‘’Nope. Tell me now or I’ll ask Firkle myself,’’ Kyle said. Ike laughed.

‘’He wouldn’t tell you shit, no matter what you said,’’ Ike said casually, calmly. Kyle knew he was hiding shit, and it was burning at Kyle to know.

‘’Fine, I’ll just pay someone to spy on your guys. I’m sure Karen or someone knows the situation,’’ Kyle said. Ike sighed, finishing off his cereal.

‘’Why do you even care? Is your life so boring now,’’ Ike said. It was probably the opposite, but not in a good way, and Ike knew this shit. Kyle spoke without reservations when he was high, spouting every detail about anything topic of school he could think of. So Ike and his maybe boyfriend- maybe fuckbuddy, Firkle were bearers of secrets that would get Kyle in so much shit if anything leaked. At least three people he can think of right off the bat would come looking for blood.

‘’Alright, can you at least enlighten me whether you’re gay or not?’’ Kyle asked.

‘’Eh,’’ Ike shrugged.

‘’Eh?’’

‘’I’m pretty open,’’ Ike said, standing up and collecting his bowl.

‘’Well what the hell does that mean?’’

‘’If you seriously need a label, I’d say pan,’’ Ike said, walking over to the sink and sitting his bowl in it. Kyle turned to him in his chair.

‘’And what about Firkle?’’ Kyle asked, wrapping his arms around the backrest, staring at Ike. Ike shrugged.

‘’He’s a guy, that I hang out with to get high. He likes getting high, I like getting high, and therefore we enjoy each other’s company. Do I really have to explain friendship to you?’’ Ike asked, giving Kyle a long stare like he was particularly slow. Kyle hated being looked at like that.

‘’Do you guys kiss?’’ Kyle asked, thinking that was a pretty neutral point to ask. Ike raised his eyebrows, smiling smugly. Kyle laughed.

‘’You little fucker! Do you like him?’’ Kyle asked curiously, smiling. The idea of them was really cute, and Kyle approved, mostly because he knew Ike pretty well, and Ike’s other friends didn’t make him act as natural as Firkle did, whatever the hell he was doing.

‘’What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t hang out with him if I didn’t like him,’’ Ike said.

‘’So who’s the top?’’ Kyle asked, though he was pretty sure it was Ike. Just because he couldn’t for the life of him picture little depressed Firkle topping Ike, who was growing into some kind of giant lanky lollipop. Though he shouldn’t judge.

‘’I really need to talk to Stan and ask him what the hell he’s not giving you to make you need to discuss my sexual life,’’ Ike said, shaking his head and walking out of the kitchen, leaving Kyle alone staring after him. Stan would just laugh if Ike asked him anything like that, because as far as he knew, he was giving Kyle everything. And he was, the things Kyle kept to himself couldn’t be helped anyway, and he couldn’t imagine Stan knowing about it all. The poor thing is in hell with his dad, and Kyle can’t help him with it, so Stan can’t help him with his own. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to see those looks of pity in Stan’s eyes for yet another thing.

Kyle sighed and got up from the table, getting a plastic container to put the meal in. He’ll give it to Ike on the way out to go to school. The kitchen was pretty clean, but that was just his mother’s obsessive cleaning habits she’s adopted since catapulting down the path of insanity, depression. Whatever pitying description you want to call a selfish woman who gave up her children in exchange for hopelessly tumbling after her lost husband down a rabbit hole. They’re only surviving off Gerald’s savings he kept from his earlier success as a lawyer, and soon his mom will need an actual paying job. Kyle doesn’t use that money, it’s sickening. He sometimes does odd jobs for neighbours when they’re too lazy to clean their garage, for cigarette money, but sometimes he’s forced to either steal them, get Kenny to steal them, or the worst one. If he’s desperate enough, he’ll offer some closeted fucker to watch him suck Stan’s dick behind the school for a pack. He hates it, but he hates the idea of not having any smokes more. He makes sure Stan is hazy from his flask before he does, to prevent any spirited objection about morals or some shit. Kyle used to be all about that moral crap, but he’s worn thin, and he doesn’t have a soul anymore, so what the hell.

He hopes he won’t have to do it again today, because as he walks to school alone, patting his jacket pocket for his lighter, he’s got his last one clamped in his lips, and that will not last him for the day. The voyeurism thing is only a backup plan if all else fails, but he’s only had to dishonour Stan’s cock a few times in the name of nicotine.

Kyle usually doesn’t smoke in his house anyway, or just outside, unless he was really struggling. He always did it on the way to school, and during breaks. And after school at Stan’s house if Stan let him do it in his room. He went through around three packs a day, and that shit was expensive. Kyle had only a little money saved up, but he’s given up the idea that he’ll be able to get out of South Park when he graduates. His only hope is too do well enough at school to get a scholarship somewhere far away, and drag Stan wherever he’s going, without needing to rely on their parents any longer. He knew Stan was all for the idea of leaving, had lost faith in adults long ago, which was relieving, because Kyle had no intention of ever coming back to this crack town once he left. He knows Ike will get out too, he’s got it easier, really, and will have no trouble having colleges scramble to offer him money and board for his genius. Ike always denies that he’s actually as smart as people say, but Kyle’s seen what he can do, and it only makes the fact that he’s also the biggest pothead in the world more ironic.

It’s been getting slightly warmer recently, but late winter snow still sludged under Kyle’s feet as he walked to school. He thinks more about Ike and Firkle, though he’s not that surprised, weirdly. He’s theorised when he’s high, sure, and Ike didn’t actually confirm anything, which seemed strategic, but his proud shit-eating smile was enough to confirm part of it was true, the kissing part at least. It was the same shit-eating grin Kyle had when Kenny started guessing that Stan and Kyle had become more than friends.

Kyle finally lit the cigarette after he couldn’t resist waiting any longer, and sighed out his first inhale. He hadn’t had one since yesterday afternoon, which is too long, given the hours late at night he’s still awake denying sleep as long as he can. He probably doesn’t go to sleep that late anyway, it’s been trained into him to go to bed early, so the latest he can do, aside from at sleepovers and shit, is eleven. Piss weak, in other words, but whatever. In the end, he’s the one winning fights when Tucker and Cartman come at him.

Kyle smoked the whole way to school, and the cigarette it was at its very end by the time he got there, Kyle was milking the very last bits before he trashed it, wondering where he could get his next batch. It would be nice to get a whole pack, but usually he could only get a few singles from generous strangers if they were in a good mood. Usually, the only way he got a whole pack was offering a porn show out back for dudes who liked blowjobs from guys and couldn’t get any themselves. Kyle refused to suck off anyone else, no matter what. He was only Stan’s, but also because the fuckheads at this school were riddled with diseases that they used to scream at when shown pictures as kids. Kyle would end up dying of syphilis before he got that goddamn pack of smokes.

School seemed to be always surrounded by a sheen of depressing grey, or maybe Kyle was projecting. He walked towards the front, bypassing a group of boys guarding the front entrance doors. Scott and Kevin gave him dirty looks, and Kyle kept his glare hard and straight as he switching directions to the left. No one but pathetic freshman went through the front, still too young to know the ropes of this place, and the sadistic students who controlled each terrain. It wasn’t even solely Cartman, which was shocking enough to give Kyle a heart attack, but Wendy and Bebe, Craig Fucker, and Token. God he hated Token, that prick only cared about one thing here, or maybe two. The little kicked puppy he held on a leash, who ate out of his hand in the cafeteria like a trained animal. Kyle sometimes feels bad for Clyde, his problems were not his fault, not entirely anyway. But this is real fucking reality now, and no one got off free with a sob story. Every fucker, including him, in this shitstack had a sob story to tell.

Kyle headed around to the back, also going past the side doors the girls controlled, and getting a hard glare from Millie, and a slight nod of acknowledgement from Nicole, who were standing in front of them like they were expecting an anal search before you could get inside. Kyle nodded back, keeping his peripheral vision on them just in case. Everyone had eyes at the back of their head now, it was very necessary.

He kept going, beelining for their particular abandoned spot near the bins and car park. For some reason, it was unmanned by anyone but them, and Kyle liked to think that younger grades didn’t hang out here because they feared them. Kyle and his misfit crew of Stan and sometimes Kenny. Kenny was usually busy blowing people for food money, or watching over his sister. Kyle tried to imagine it, a senior whore sitting down with a bunch of girls in the junior lunch area outside. But according to Kenny, it’s only Karen and her girlfriend. So many gay couples these days. Kyle theorises it’s because no one wants to bring a child into the world, and hetero’s are just causing trouble with teenage pregnancy rates. Stan can shoot as many loads as he wants into Kyle, and he’s not gonna have a baby fall out his ass one day, and have to drop out and raise it on support payments as a result.

Speaking of that, Stan was in their area, leaning against the side handles of the steps into the building, scrolling through his phone. Kyle walked over to him, and Stan looked up, brightening from over his phone at seeing Kyle. Kyle approached him and immediately pulled him down for a kiss, holding the front of his shirt tightly. Stan was smiling when they released, and Kyle pet his cheek fondly, seeing he hadn’t drunk anything this morning. Some days he was really good, didn’t touch any alcohol, but some were. Yeah.

‘’How’d you sleep?’’ Stan asked.

‘’Shit as always. You?’’ Kyle asked.

‘’Dad spent the night in jail for harassing the guys at the liquor store, so I slept pretty good,’’ Stan said. If anyone made Kyle angrier than his mother, his father, and even Cartman, it was Randy. That ignorant puss wart of a man led Stan down this hole, fucking held his hand while he dragged him down into the depths of addiction. He didn’t usually express this, because Stan expressed enough hate out loud for the both of them, though Kyle could always fit in more.

‘’You should’ve called me, I would’ve had a sleepover with you, like old times,’’ Kyle joked, bumping his shoulder. Stan smirked.

‘’Old times my ass, we’d be fucking in minutes,’’ Stan said.

‘’Yeah exactly, old times,’’ Kyle said, earning a guffaw from Stan. Weirdly, he hugged Kyle then, the act itself wasn’t strange, but it didn’t really belong in that context. Kyle hugged back anyway, closing his eyes and breathing out ice lungs again, the heat from the smoke not enough to counter the still freezing balls weather.

‘’I should’ve waited, we were so young,’’ Stan said, muffled in Kyle’s hair. Kyle huffed.

‘’You say that like you forced yourself on me. I call to remember I kissed you first,’’ Kyle said, because Stan sounded so guilty.

‘’I just look around and see the kid versions of us sometimes, and it makes me a little sick to think what we’ve all become,’’ Stan said.

‘’As if it wasn’t bound to happen,’’ Kyle mumbled, turning his head away from Stan when he nuzzled him. He didn’t think about it, because it brought about way too many other things, mostly memories, that Kyle was training himself to believe was one big elaborate dream, and he actually had a nice boring childhood, and turned out this way on his own account, his choice, not due to traumatic pasts.

‘’We were only thirteen Kyle,’’ Stan said sadly, quietly. Kyle looked back at Stan, still being held by him, and raised his eyebrows at his concern, as though they were only eight or something when it happened. The time was pretty hard for both of them, Stan was feeling the effects of having no mother around, and Kyle was adjusting to life feeling very alone when his mother would yell at him for remotely discussing his dad at all. It was around the time when they discovered holding each other was very therapeutic to survival, and touching in every way was beneficial, including kissing. But hormones got in the way, and the kissing turned into rutting, the rutting soon turned into Kyle pulling legs apart and whispering they could be close that way too. It was very slow and nervous, they kissed too much, Stan used too much lube out of fear of hurting Kyle, and they made a terrible mess afterwards. But the act only confirmed in Kyle’s mind that they belonged to each other, because who else would Kyle let into him in such an intimate and soul peering way? Only Stan.

‘’Speaking of that, I’m pretty sure Ike is fucking the goth kid Firkle,’’ Kyle said, changing the subject, kind of.

‘’Seriously?’’ Stan gave Kyle a look of disbelief, sadness forgotten. ‘’We all knew that. I spoke to Henrietta just the other day and she said he’s got a crush on your brother, and he was all blushy and stabby about it. Freaking weirdos.’’

‘’How come you didn’t tell me?’’ Kyle asked, annoyed that this pretty profound information wasn’t told to him. He could’ve saved making a dumbass out of himself this morning.

‘’I just thought you knew already, and it was like those things that are always known, but never discussed,’’ Stan said.

‘’I thought I was high when I thought they were a couple. I am just insane?’’

‘’Yes,’’ Stan said, and Kyle snorted. Stan ducked down and kissed his neck, and Kyle checked over his shoulder while he lingered further down, ensuring people weren’t getting a free hit. If anyone was watching, Kyle would chase them down and make them pay for it. Even if it was only one goddamn cigarette, he would get it.

‘’How insane would you have to be, to want me this bad?’’ Stan asked, licking a spot near his jaw that always turned him to putty. Kyle flushed and gripped Stan’s hair, holding him there as he nibbled down slightly and made him gasp.

‘’P-pretty goddamn insane,’’ Kyle said, hooking his leg around Stan and pulling him to focus on his mouth, which he did, licking into him expertly, and more important, soberly. Kyle was not particularly attracted to drunk Stan, even if he still sucked his dick, but sober Stan was such a train hit of arousal for Kyle that he struggled to keep from dropping to his knees and clasping his hands dramatically and begging to be fucked. Even at the back of the school, open to anyone stumbling across them, Kyle would probably do it still. Of course whoever saw would have to pay like, five packs at least. That’s more of a last resort, though he does want one now, Stan’s attentions with his tongue won’t last.

Unfortunately, they were out of time, and the bell shook them out and back into reality. They reluctantly went inside, Stan keeping hold of Kyle’s waist as they made their way to roll class. It felt possessive, Stan was very possessive, and Kyle loved it.

‘’You don’t have any cigarettes on you don’t you?’’ Kyle asked Stan as they walked, pretty sure he didn’t. He didn’t condone smoking, probably on account of Ned. He died last year. Stan gave him a glare.

‘’Like you need to ask. Did you run out again?’’ Stan asked.

‘’Yeah, and I’m broke again,’’ Kyle said.

‘’Just don’t resort to doing Cartman a favour for them, please. Or Wendy for that matter,’’ Stan warned.

‘’I won’t,’’ Kyle promised, a little grossed out by whatever favours he’d be doing for either of them. A favour from Wendy would most definitely be sex related. A favour from Cartman would probably be drug gang related, or sucking his balls.

In class, Kyle was getting more fidgety, thinking about break and wondering where he could find one. He couldn’t take Kenny’s, despite the urge, Kenny was poor as shit, and Kyle couldn’t bring himself to steal cigarettes from a guy who had to pay for them by sucking some random dudes dick. He couldn’t concentrate on class, the teacher was spouting about random shit now, they didn’t care, they probably knew half of these guys weren’t listening or caring anyway. Kyle was bouncing his heel erratically, chewing his pen and trying to figure out where he could get some for break. He glanced around the room. Stan was sitting on his right, staring off into space, as usual. Kenny was behind him, playing with paper and flicking it across the room in little balls. Kyle turned slightly, watching them land, and his eyes caught something. Craig, sitting at the back of the class and away from everyone. Kyle knew he smoked, he caught glances of him at Tweak’s coffee shop outside sometimes. He wondered how he could ever manage to steal any off Craig, who was fiercely protective of his stuff, and shanked any bitches who tried. But Kyle was getting desperate here, so he turned back and tried to formulate a plan.

Kyle leaned back in his chair to Kenny’s desk, tilting his head toward him to signify he wanted to talk. Kenny leaned forward, his ear close to Kyle.

‘’I need you to do something for me,’’ Kyle said quietly, glancing at the teacher. Dumbass wasn’t watching, typical.

‘’I’m listening,’’ Kenny whispered.

‘’Get Craig’s cigarettes for me,’’ Kyle said, knowing Kenny was a super Amadeus with pickpocketing.

‘’That’s a tough one. What do I get in exchange?’’ Kenny asked.

‘’I’ll make it worth your while afterwards,’’ Kyle whispered. He had no idea what to give Kenny in return, but he’ll think of something. Kenny leaned back in his seat, and Kyle turned back around to the front, using his peripheral vision to watch.

Kenny glanced to the back, seeing Craig wasn’t watching him, and turned back. He grabbed his pen, and promptly flung it behind him to the very back of the room, hearing a clack as it hit the back wall.

‘’What was that?’’ The teacher asked, finally paying attention, ignorant dickhole.

‘’Oh, sorry. I accidently flung my pen. I’ll go get it,’’ Kenny said, standing up in his seat. The teacher stared, then turned back to the work no one was doing. Kyle turned slightly more to watch, seeing Kenny walk down the aisle to the very back, looking around for it, and stumbling around Craig’s desk. Craig stared at him, and Kenny looked up from his crouching position beside the desk, grinning.

‘’Sorry, Craig. Just looking for my pen,’’ Kenny said with a smile, looking underneath his desk. Craig continued to glare.

‘’What the hell are you doing?’’ Craig asked, staring down as Kenny searched underneath his desk.

‘’I thought my pen landed here, I was sure,’’ Kenny said, ducking his head back up in front of Craig’s desk. Kyle watched with interest, trying not to stare too obviously.

‘’Well it didn’t,’’ Craig said. Kenny sighed, and placed his hands over the desk, leaning on to it.

‘’You’re probably right. I really liked that pen,’’ Kenny said, sadly, trailing his finger after a spot on the desk. Craig continued to glare, and Kenny looked back up, and smiled.

‘’You’ve got pretty eyes,’’ Kenny said, staring at him. Craig blinked, and in that split second, Kyle could see it, Kenny subtly reached under the desk and slipped out the pack in Craig’s pants, quick and quietly, while he grinned at Craig and sighed again. Craig apparently didn’t feel it, because he didn’t move a muscle or change his expressionless face. Kenny secured the pack under his shirt, and Kyle rejoiced, prematurely.

‘’I’ll probably have to buy a new one now. How will I pay for it? Are you open to let me suck you afterschool for stationary money?’’ Kenny asked sweetly. Craig glared some more.

‘’No.’’

‘’Fine, fine. I’ll leave you alone now, my darling Craigster,’’ Kenny said, getting up and stretching and headed back to his seat. He winked at Kyle on the way, and Kyle suppressed a grin.

‘’Hey!’’

They both turned back, and Craig was searching his pockets, his expression growing graver. He shot his glare up to Kenny, looking murderous. Oh fuck.

‘’What?’’ Kenny asked, going back to his seat. Craig threw his chair back, and it clattered to the back of the room as he stood up. Kyle watched in horror, afraid for Kenny, but Craig angrily stalked up, bypassed Kenny, to his great shock, and grabbed Kyle’s shoulder.

‘’You motherfucker,’’ Craig gritted out. Kyle looked back at Kenny, whose eyes were wide, surprised.

‘’What the fuck?’’ Kyle said.

‘’I know it was you, you low scum fucker,’’ Craig growled.

‘’What was me?’’ Kyle asked, his surprise hardening into something more solid and fearsome.

‘’Don’t play dumb, fuckhead. What do I tell you? Don’t fuck with me, so don’t fucking get your dog to take my cigarettes!’’

‘’Hey, asshole! Leave him alone,’’ Stan piped in beside Kyle.

‘’Stay out of it, Stan,’’ Kyle said, standing up from his desk to Craig’s angry height, ripping his grip from his shoulder. He should’ve anticipated this really. No one’s ever gotten away with taking shit from him. Kyle wasn’t thinking straight when he thought of it, and now he had to fight the lunatic, punching him right in the jaw quickly. Craig stumbled back, wiping his mouth where Kyle got him, and looking back with a look that could only be interpreted as; you’re dead. Kyle pushed himself out from the desk, and walked forward.

Craig didn’t waste time, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his pocket knife, flashing it dangerously in warning at Kyle. Kyle didn’t flinch.

‘’Real classy asshole, swing that thing at me, see what happens,’’ Kyle challenged. Craig snarled and came at him, aiming the knife at his head, like a fucking psycho. He ran at Kyle and swung it at him, cutting the air, and Kyle darted around him and kicked his knee, making him stumble again, and swipe back on Kyle like a rabid animal. Kyle didn’t step back far enough, and Craig managed to punch him right in the cheekbone, making it swell in pain. Kyle groaned, feeling his cheek. Craig’s hands were like razor blades themselves, sharp and bony, hitting Kyle’s skin and making the blood seep out. Now he was fucking angry.

Kyle swung at him, missing his nose by an inch, and getting tackled by Craig, his knife curling into his cheek with a painful slice. Kyle yelled, kicking Craig off and ignoring the sting as more blood trickled down to his neck and stained his shirt. The teacher was shouting at them to stop, but Kyle’s ears were ringing, only seeing red as he hit Craig, again, again, punching him so hard his nose looked like Murdoc from Gorillaz. Craig stumbled and swung blindly, and his knife stabbed into Kyle’s hand with a sickening squelch. Kyle screamed, holding his hand as blood escaped it and throbbed out of him in blinding pain. Craig looked like he was about to pass out, swaying and bloody, holding the knife that was now covered in Kyle’s blood. Kyle stumbled forward, holding his cut hand out away, determined to end this son of a bitch, mustering up the anger that overshadowed his dizziness. He landed his bloody fist into Craig’s stomach, making him heave, and Kyle held him down like that, getting him repeatedly with his knee, kicking into him hard, again, again, you son of a motherfucking whore.

Kyle spat out blood onto the floor as Craig fell down, and Kyle followed, feeling his blood loss make things little dizzy. He dropped the knife, and Kyle picked it up from the ground and chucked it away, punching him in the face once more, for good measure. The class was swarming around them, shouting and cheering, but Kyle couldn’t hear anything, just buzzing. Craig must have got his ear at some point. How many times has he done this?

Kyle felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up from the ground to see Stan, regarding him with a worried face. Kyle couldn’t hear him very well, or maybe it was just glowing victory. Did he win? He doesn’t even care. He felt something being chucked in his lap, and he looked down. His cigarettes. Ah.

Worth it.

After the school nurse confirmed he needed stitches in his hand and cheek, and gave him a numbing agent to endure the pain while she did it, Kyle was released at break with a blood soaked t-shirt and bruises rising on his face, and an annoyed scowl planted on his face that wouldn’t come off, not that he wanted it to. Craig was similarly bloodied and bruised, and Kyle took irrational pride that he’d managed to fuck up his nose like he did. He avoided everyone as soon as the principal had seen them both to discern what happened, and give them the run of the mill ‘fighting’s bad’ speech and threaten suspension if it happened again. Empty threats, they’ve been in countless fights this year, five of which were with Craig. Administration didn’t do shit, just sent them off with consoling lollipops like children and said they’d be very disappointed if it happened again boys, okay?

Craig went the opposite way from Kyle as soon as they were free, giving him a final glare and flipping him off before stalking off. Kyle found Stan loitering near the halls where he stood, and his eyes got huge as he looked upon Kyle’s battle scars. He came up to Kyle, gingerly brushing his fingers over Kyle’s bruised cheek, making Kyle wince.

‘’Fuckin’ Craig,’’ Stan muttered, shaking his head. ‘’I’ll kill him.’’

‘’Or just murder Tweek. That’ll send the right message, I’m sure,’’ Kyle suggested, half joking. He took Stan’s arm and linked it with his as they walked through the halls outside for break.

‘’But you’d need to find him. The little fucker hasn’t gone to school for a month,’’ Stan pointed out.

‘’I swear, I feel like I’m being set up sometimes with these fights. Maybe that one was my fault, but the other times are just ridiculous,’’ Kyle said, wondering about this, some things at this school just felt like they were orchestrated. Maybe he was just trying to explain the craziness, throwing another theory out there to excuse this whole town and the people living in it. Stan shrugged, obviously not as concerned, lucky. Kyle wished he carried that kind of carefree indifference to stuff like Stan could, but it was only because of his drinking that made him so careless about most things. Kyle would probably be dead already if he drank like that though, and is kind of surprised he’s still alive now. Not even AID’s huh? Of course not, god needed stimulus to jerk off to, and he got off on giving pain to Kyle the most.

Back outside, sitting back on the cold pavement next to the staircase, Kyle’s ass didn’t even sit down before he was lighting his very hard earned cigarette, sighing in the tobacco flavoured poison like it was crack, his cheek throbbing. He was still dizzy, but maybe that was to do with needing to eat. He was still feeling queasy about attempting food, but unfortunately, sometimes he had to put his disgust aside for the sake of his damned diabetes. He avoided any slushy foods at any cost, reminding him too much of the tube. Nope, stop thinking about it.

‘’Have you got any of those fruit bites?’’ Kyle asked Stan, as Stan just stared at him with a sad sack face, feeling sorry for him. Probably because he looked like he was in a car crash. Kyle forgave his pity for the moment, he kind of wanted it right now, just wanting to lean into Stan and forget about the throb in his hand from Craig’s evil blade. It hurt like a bitch, but Kyle wouldn’t say so to anyone, maybe not even Stan if he dwelled on it too much. The nurse had it wrapped up in bandage, but the blood had already seeped through and stuck to it, making a faded red stain.

Predictably, Stan brightened up absurdly quickly, enthusiastically affirming and pulling out his bag to fetch them. Kyle struggled not to smile at Stan’s attitude, but he couldn’t think about it too much, because then he felt guilty the rest of the time when he was denying food. Stan passed them along, and Kyle took one, chewing very thoroughly, taking his time, and swallowing like a pill. He liked the bites because they were tough and sweet, and didn’t call to mind any strange fluid that could be choked down a throat. And their small manageable size gave him security that he was completely in control of what he was ingesting. He ate half a bag, underestimating how hungry he actually was, and ignoring Stan’s approving gaze. He was smoking in between each swallow, inhaling the smoke to counter the overload of artificial sweetness. He could probably use a salad for once or something, but the effort just seemed to much for him to bother making a priority. He felt more like eating a dick right now anyway. He glanced at Stan.

Alas, he didn’t get to suck Stan’s cock, even if he’d agreed to do it here, sober. Kenny strolled out from the back door, swinging it open with a bang and proceeding to plonk himself down beside Stan and Kyle. He turned to Kyle, frowning.

‘’Shit dude. Was it worth it in the end?’’ Kenny asked.

‘’Totally,’’ Kyle said sincerely, splitting a grin and shaking the pack of cigarettes in his hand. Stan rolled his eyes and Kyle ignored it, knowing he was a fussy bitch about smoking.

‘’So you said you had something after for me in return to nearly getting my ass kicked,’’ Kenny said. Kyle should’ve known that’s why he was here, looking expectant. Kyle took a drag on the stubby cigarette he was holding, nearly completely gone.

‘’Anything in particular you want?’’ Kyle asked. Kenny seemed to need to consider this.

‘’A nice big house, lots of money. A nascar of my own that Cartman is killed for even touching. And having Stotch back would be nice,’’ Kenny added as an afterthought. Stan scoffed.

‘’God, get over him. He’s gone,’’ Stan said. Kenny flicked him off.

‘’Easy for you to say, you’ve still got your best friend around,’’ Kenny said bitterly. He was still not over that.

‘’Well, I can’t get you those things. Is there anything that’s exchangeable to a pack of smokes by any chance?’’ Kyle asked. Kenny thought about this, and looked back at Kyle.

‘’I guess keep giving your meals to Karen, when you don’t have them yourself. I really appreciate that,’’ Kenny said. Shit. Stan wasn’t supposed to know that. Kyle panicked and looked at Stan, who was frowning. 

‘’Wait- what?’’ Stan asked, giving Kyle a betrayed look. Kyle glared at Kenny, who made the understanding and looked away like he was not getting involved.

‘’Stan,’’ Kyle said, laughing nervously as though it wasn’t a big deal, which. It really wasn’t, to him.

‘’ _Dude_. Why don’t you eat, Kyle, why can’t you tell me? I don’t understand,’’ Stan said, his voice cracking. Kyle was already dazed over from the numb swell on his cheek, his hand was screaming in pain, and he was pretty sick of it. He rubbed at his eyes, his face growing hot in rage he was failing at suppressing.

‘’Because I can’t eat anything without being violently reminded that I was taken as a child and surgically sewn to another human being, Stan! So that’s why I don’t eat shit, because they made me eat shit, okay! Happy now?’’ Kyle yelled, not bothering wipe the tears falling down his face, his mind cracking open and forcing memories into his mind that he’d tried so damn hard to rid. He tried, and they didn’t work. He was fucking broken open like the weak egg yolk he was.

Kyle brought the cigarette back to his lips with a heavily shaking hand as Stan and Kenny stared in shock, speechless. He sniffed and wiped his eye, feeling the wetness there, and then wiping the other with his free hand. Stupid. No one could hide from shit like that, no matter how much they needed to. He just needed to forget. Was dying the only way to do it? Kyle took a drag instead of thinking about it any further.

Soon after, he felt strong warm arms embracing him, whispering apologies that had zero value to his problems but he took in like melting sugar anyway. Stan was sniffling in his hair, actually crying about this, which hurt Kyle more than remembering. A different kind of hurt, but ultimately one he could fix, maybe. But he was so tired. He was so tired of hoping that any attempts at a normal life weren’t doomed to fail. They weren’t normal, they never have been, they never will be. And Kyle, in that moment, finally made his peace with it, and hugged Stan back with his remaining strength, and cried again.


	3. cHiLd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah ha hah hah hah ah, yah yes
> 
> yes...

BUTTERS

The wall has always been white. It looks like whitewash board planks, and feels slightly chalky. Sometimes white dust appears on his fingers when he brushes his hand against it’s hard, crackly texture. Sometimes the walls look a bit dirty, or maybe the white gets too bright for his eyes to handle, and they perceive something else. Hmm.

He shouldn’t be surprised if his eyes are playing tricks on him, because he can’t trust any inch of his body anymore, especially his sight. That sight would be the first thing Butters would get rid of if he had to lose something of his. Seeing the same old white wash wall against his bed was so tiring, so boring, so stark, so everything, and nothing. Everything to remind him what he had left. And the answer is nothing. Nothing left.

Hmm.

What he would give to go outside. He only sees the blinding beautiful sunlight on very special days. The voices tell him so. He hears them constantly, banging around outside his cell, coughing, making remarks about Rebecca’s pregnancy, and that the test proved it wasn’t Jim’s kid. So who was the slut Rebecca is bumping coconuts with instead of Jim? It’s Brian, but only Butters knows, him and Brian and Rebecca of course. They don’t know Butters knows, but he’s learnt to hear vigilantly. These days it’s the only thing to do around here. That and look at the big boring white wall.

He has a very small window at the very top of the room, but it’s very small, as he just said. He can’t stand that high, and it only lets in a little sunlight. At night the moonlight can get scary, but he prefers that to stark coldness. He likes to think about what’s on the outside, though he doubts it’s the life he missed, often thinks about in his dreams as something he can reach. It’s probably marshy ground, empty mud space that surrounds the big place that feels constantly empty. It’s not, Butters knows that, not that he gets to meet anyone, not that he hears anyone but the voices. The voices become people sometimes, usually they only manifest when he’s being served dinner, or showering. Only on rare occasions do they let him explore the recreation area. They don’t let the others come and play with him anyway. He’s always all alone.

It gets boring sometimes. Not often, because although at first the whitewash walls were agony to stare at and know nothing was coming to change his state, he adapted eventually. He’s learnt some nifty old tricks to keep him occupied, not that he’s waiting for anything. The voices don’t tell him much about what’s going on, not that he deserves it. He doesn’t think about it often. How he got in here. Hmm.

Butters was sitting on the linoleum floor, a mouldy old colour that smelled vaguely sterile. His routine bell rang, and a racket was made from the door slat. His lunch. A plastic tray pushed through the hole on the door, covered in a film. Butters left his habitat on the floor and crawled over to retrieve his meal. The same as usual, a mashed meat mix, with peas and cold corn. And his favourite old pudding cup, gooey in texture but nice and sweet compared to the other parts. He learnt early he couldn’t just eat the pudding, but he didn’t learn that here. He learnt from his parents, at dinner time. Huh. Parents.

He ate his meal on the ground, with crossed legs, balancing the tray on his knees, pretending it was a table. The plastic dinnerware is hard and tough, but not enough to do anything that could chip those white walls. Just enough to shovel into a puddin’ cup and mash of meat and gravy. Sometimes he likes to think his spoon loosely resembles a person, if they had a skinny ol’ body and big round head. It’s close enough to have decent conversations with. He’s not that bad, he knows it’s what insane people do. Butters is not insane. He just likes to play sometimes, because it gets pretty darn boring in here sometimes, despite what he just said contradicting that. He makes fun for himself.

The voices tell him to put the tray back near the hole in the door after a while. Butters knows this part well, and he’d already finished and had it ready for the voice to alert him. Call it an internal clock, he knows when everything is happening. Not much spontaneity occurs, so Butters gets extra excited when he gets to hear about Rebecca and her unborn slut baby. When the voice takes away the tray again, the room is once again silence. It does get a little chilly, but the room is automatically heated at a certain point, he’s been told. At night he can put on an extra blanket, but he has to request it first, and that means responding to the voices. He doesn’t particularly like doing that, because talking to each other they seem jolly folks, but to him they’re cold and mean, and Butters doesn’t like them so much then.

Recreation days are Butters favourite. He always remembers the date, because it’s the only time the voices come and take him out of the chalky room. He’s always bouncing on his heels on those days, ecstatic to resume his games they rudely took him away from last time. He never gets to finish, but he supposes while he gets to use the recreation room, the other people can’t. No one is allowed when he goes out. He doesn’t really know why, he’s not a bad fella. He’d appreciate some company that doesn’t yell or scowl at him when he tries to ask a question. He’s kind of out of question anyways. So oh well. It would still be nice to have a playmate for his imaginary games with the toys there.

He wonders sometimes if he could muster up the courage to ask for another guy to come and join him. He’s usually striking himself down, if not the guards are doing it for him. _As if kid! You’re mental, boy, you know that? No way in hell are you getting anyone else in here with you._

It’s not that he’s bad company, he’s loads of fun. He knows it. He was friends with the cool kids at school. He can’t quite capture their names. It flys away when he tries, other things get in the way, and he forgets. Oh well. But he knows people liked him, they did.

Do they remember him? Probably not, it’s been too long. But then again, he was pretty cool to them, he’s sure they would at least recognise him if they saw him. Sure his hair is shaved shorter than before, that’s just the regulation. And his new height might be a bit of a shock, maybe. And his grey button up shirt and pants might look a bit different than what he used to wear. Something blue? His eyes are real, though, still the same blue as before, as far as he can tell. They should recognise him, he’s same old Butters. Same old Butters, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, and his one blind eye. What happened to that dang thing anyway? Oh, yeah, Kenny threw a ninja star into it.

Kenny.

When he finally remembers a name from one of his old friends, the rest come flowing, flowing out of his brain like a faucet. He hops along with the guards as they guide him to the recreation room, and he’s grinning to himself by the time they arrive in the large colourful room full of fun and games. He’s got an idea.

Stan and Kyle, how could he forget them now that he’s forgotten them. Those two buddies were as close friends as people could get. Butters envied them a lot growing up, sure thing he did. They had a bond so good they could talk with their eyes, it got trying, sure, but in the end Butters felt so happy they were that close that he couldn’t be jealous for long. It’s not really in his nature to be sore for long anyways. He hopes they’re still that close now. He’d be real sad if they had a falling out.

Ha, the one and only Eric Cartman. He wonders probably the most what’s happened to this guy. The last time they spoke, Eric was calling him something real mean, but Butters felt bad for the guy. He seemed lonely. Butters wondered if he’s found anybody to be with, better than Heidi at least. Butters didn’t really think they suited each other. It’s a term he has heard before, star crossed lovers or somethin’, where two people find each other, completely opposite, and somehow make it work. Eric and Heidi didn’t. Oh well, maybe Eric’s nicer now too, wouldn’t that be nice. He’d love to see it.

Ahh, his old Kenny. Kenny was his absolute best friend, and one of the only people who didn’t make fun of him like the others. He joked, sure, but he always made Butters feel better when he wasn’t doing too well. That was some of Butters best memories of his friends. Wondering what Ken is up to now isn’t fun though. It hurts. It isn’t nice to think about. Who is Kenny best friends with now? Does he make other fellas feel better when they’re down? Does he share some of his dirty jokes like a secret whisper to other boys now? It’s maybe the first time Butter’s has felt depressed in this place, thinking about Kenny, and the life Butters is no longer a part of.

Huh.

The grin Butters was wearing was now replaced with a mournful expression, as he’s led to the centre of the room, where the guards remove his shackles tight on his wrists. He’s now annoyed with them, and glad to get them off. The room is decidedly less cheerful than it was when he first entered, and he’s not particularly happy with the guards either, as they grunt and give him dirty looks. Hmmph.

He tries to think about who else, to distract him from that gloomy moment he wishes to forget.

Ha! Tweek and Craig, his favourite ol’ homosexual couple. They were still together when he left, still making a scene in the Asian community of the school in terms of their yaoi popularity. Yeah, that was a bundle of fun when it happened, and Butters quite liked the art. He wondered if anyone else might be given the same treatment as them two. Jokingly, he fancied the idea that him and Ken could laugh ones off that depicted them together. That would be fun.

_Oh Ken._

Enough! Who else?

Oh! His favourite bitches Wendy and Bebe! Those two were best friends themselves, which was real nice. Butters wasn’t particularly at war with them anymore anyway when he left. That phase of wieners out was over, but it still tickled Butters’ ribs to know all the damage he caused. Just cos he was sore with some girl that broke his heart into two and spat on it’s crushed bloody soul. The _chaos_ , the pure carnage of it, was magnificent. One of his finest deeds. Ha, not the best though!

What’s going on? Right right. Butters sat on the ground of the recreation room, pulling out from a wooden box the dolls. His dolls, as far as he knew, nobody else touched them. But how was he to know? He didn’t keep security on this place when the others were allowed their turn. Maybe some other inmate thinks the dolls are solely theirs. They could share them, maybe, if anybody else was allowed in here.

Anyways, the dolls. They were assorted in size, mostly female dolls, but there were some ken dolls to go along with them. Butters decided he would give the best looking one to Kenny. It had real blonde tufts of hair on it’s head, kind of messy from overuse, but Kenny always had unbrushed hair, so it fitted. It had blue eyes that were a little faded, but still visible, and no bite marks or chewed up limbs. Yeah, that would be his Kenny.

The next one he pulled out was the prettiest barbie doll, with the best kept hair. Butters usually called her Millicent, but today she was Bebe. It was fitting, sometimes Butters would take her top off and stare at the bumps representing her titties, wondering if that’s what they usually looked like, or it was just a doll. He wouldn’t ever know, so this was closest. But Bebe was the earliest developer of breasts, when Butters was there. He wonders what’s up with her now, if she’s as pretty as people predicted she would be when she got older. Most likely, the adults were never wrong. Nope, never wrong, never never never.

There was an Asian barbie doll in the box, and Butters assigned it to Wendy, because the doll had straight black hair just like Wendy when he last saw her. It was little and slim, and Butters quickly lifted up her top to see the tiny titties they assigned her, then placed Wendy next to Bebe on the ground, keeping them distanced away from Kenny, who stayed beside him. Kenny got flirty sometimes, and Butters wanted that solely directed on him, not his bitches.

It was a shame they didn’t make fat barbie dolls, because Butters would’ve immediately assigned it to Eric. Instead, he took the ugliest one, a girl with cut off hair and a head that was squished down her neck, making her look like she didn’t have one at all. Butters giggled to himself as he set Eric beside Ken, admiring the difference in looks. Eric had a purse attached to her hand, and Butters frowned, it looked too nice and good quality for Eric to have. He pulled it out of Eric’s grip and gave it to Kenny, smiling at the much better look he had now with a pink sparkly purse in his hand. Yeah.

There was a battered old Ken doll with hair that was painted on, a dark brown colour. But he had a nice big jaw and a painted goatee, and blue eyes. Most of the dolls had blue eyes, Butters noticed. When was the last time he looked into eyes that weren’t blue? Too long.

Hmm.

Butters assigned that Ken doll to Stan, because it looked like the kind of doll the real Stan would’ve chosen to play with, because it looked tough and war-beaten, a chewed up hand, and army pants as his only clothes. His shirt was painted on. If Stan wanted to play with dolls at all. Butters thinks he does, but he’s always trying to prove how tough and cool he is to Kyle, who isn’t into things like that. Butters can tell, because that one time in Mackey’s basement, Stan had himself a great time pretending to be Charlie’s angels, dressing up, playing with the other fellas. He even said so. Until Kyle turned up, and sadly, Stan pretended it sucked, so Kyle wouldn’t think any less of him. It was even sadder, because if he’d told the truth, Kyle probably would’ve wanted to join in too. Those two do complicate stuff a lot, despite their connection. Butters hopes they worked it out in the end, and got to play dolls together in the end. Would they want to now? Being much older. Is Butters too old?

There was a barbie with red hair that caught Butter’s eye in the box, and he knew immediately it would be Kyle. Mostly because of the hair, but also because she just looked uptight and refined, especially the tight suit she wore. It reminded him of how particular Kyle could be when it came to schoolwork and curfew. Ha, uncle Kyle. That was fun. Butters places Kyle next to Stan, and links their arms, so they look like buddies. It looks pretty silly, a small redhead barbie with a big bearded army Ken, but he kind of likes it that way.

Butters sees a Nikki doll that he thinks could be Token, but decides against it, because the idea he had isn’t orientated around Token, not yet anyway. Maybe he’ll get involved soon, but Butters puts him with a brunette barbie that he decides is Clyde anyway, since they were best friends before, and could probably use each other’s company while Butters plays with the others.

There’s one whose blonde hair looks like she’s been attacked by a cat, and it looks too much like Tweek for Butters to leave out. Just to be even, Butters digs around for someone who looks comparable to Craig, so they match. At the very bottom of the box, he beams when he finds a barbie who’s just barely smiling, and her eyes make the smile seem serious and cold, just like Craig. It’s got cut hair, down to the buzzed remains, but Butters thinks that actually suits her, now Craig. He puts her with Tweek, and makes them kiss before setting them together, smiling. This is where it really gets exciting.

Butters hesitates when he looks at Kenny, and decides he’ll talk to him last. He picks up Eric and Kyle, because their banter is always fun to start things up. In real life anyway.

The Kyle doll looks even prettier compared to Eric, who’s ugliness looks worse now compared to the sleek looking redhead. Butters stands them up together, and starts.

_‘’Hey Kyal! Do you know you’re a dirty jew!’’ Eric says, squawking in his annoying voice._

Butters giggles, turns Kyle to hit Eric with his head.

_‘’Shut up Fatass! I hate you! I will kill you in your sleep! Unless you apologise to me for calling me a Jew!’’ Kyle screams in his shrill pitch._

_‘’Nuh uh, jew. I’ll kill you in your sleep!’’ Eric says, pointing her arm up at Kyle._

_‘’C’mon guys! Stop fighting!’’ Stan cuts in, in front of Kyle, protectively. Kyle stops scowling and looks at Stan, and faints._

_‘’Kyle!’’ Stan says, turning to Kyle and picking her up._

_‘’Ha ha! Kyal fell over!’’ Eric taunts, pointing at Kyle. Stan punches him in his stupid face and Eric crys, running home to his mommy._

_‘’Oh Stan!’’ Kyle exclaims, throwing her arms around Stan in a hug. Stan faints too, and Kyle kisses him awake, and Stan wakes up and makes out with her on the ground._

Butters paused, surprised at himself for descending into this, holding the two dolls uncertainly in his hands, their lips connected. Butters stares at them, and decides to the hell of it, and keeps them kissing. He’s blushing while he does it, but he doesn’t stop, and eventually gets bored and picks up Kenny.

The blush from making Stan and Kyle kiss is still on his face, and it intensifies the longer he stares at Kenny. His face doesn’t change, doesn’t even look like the real Kenny, besides from obvious colours and stuff. Butters hasn’t seen him for years. It’s been _years._

How old is he?

Butters breathed heavily, suddenly feeling very dizzy.

‘’How old am I?’’ Butters asked out loud, first to himself, and he repeats it, turning around to the guard stationed at the door. ‘’How old am I?’’

The guard doesn’t respond, and Butters turns back to the dolls, frowning. He’s had enough of them. He chucks them all back in the box, still holding Kenny in his hand. He was about to put Kenny back too, and just holds him, staring at him.

‘’What happened Ken?’’ Butters whispered, keeping Kenny’s painted on eyes trained on him. No response. Butters hesitated to ask another question.

‘’Why am I here?’’ Butters asked, louder. No response. Butters looked down on himself. Wearing grey plain clothes, the same every day, and soft slipper shoes, the only footwear he’s had for years. Years.

‘’Am I in prison?’’ Butters asked, glaring into Kenny for answers. No response.

‘’What’s wrong with me? Why am I here!’’ Butters says, shouting, shaking Kenny for a response. No response. Tears stain Butter’s cheeks, and he laughs. He hasn’t cried for years, the last time he felt them, was his first night. His first night, of prison.

‘’I’m in prison, aren’t I Ken? Nobody’s coming for me. Not my parents, not my friends, Stan and Kyle and those guys,’’ Butters yelled, crying. ‘’And not you,’’ Butters said, looking back at him.

No response.

‘’Why?’’ Butters asks, his voice smaller than a wisp of wind, though he remembers now. He’s not in prison. He’s nowhere.

He’s no one.

Nothing.

No one.

‘’Take me back,’’ Butters says loud enough for the guard to hear. The voices, the guards. Security. Of course. They restrain him, and put him back in his shackles. Like a prisoner. Ha, paper towels. He used paper towels.

Fucking pathetic little boy.

Butter’s tears are flowing fast by the time he’s back in his prison cell, alone. It may as well be his prison cell, ha ha.

The room is silent, much like that night. Stupid pathetic little boy.

Why?

Fucking why?

Butter’s eyes are blurred when he fishes the Kenny doll from in his pants, hidden from the sight of the guards. They wouldn’t care. They’d think he’s just going to hump himself to the doll like he’s a sick queer kid. This pathetic fucking toy, for a fucking two year old, is his only friend. He’s not ten years old. He’s older, much, much older.

He doesn’t recognise himself in the plastic mirror they gave him above his toilet sink. He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s- he’s.

Nothing.

Never mind. It doesn’t matter.

Butters stares at the toy. That’s right, it’s only a toy. It’s not Kenny. Kenny is not here. Kenny doesn’t remember him. Maybe he doesn’t realise he existed at all. Maybe he doesn’t.

‘’What am I doing here!’’ Butters cries, throwing himself to the lino floor, bumping his head in the process. It doesn’t even fucking matter. He’s nothing. Not anymore. Maybe he never was at all.

Butters crawls to bed and dreams, tugging the scratchy blanket over his teenage body, the bed straining against his length, so he curls up with his knees to his chest. The doll remains abandoned on the ground, forgotten, just like him. No response.

Butters dreams about when he was younger. He doesn’t very much dream anymore. He has a bad dream, a nightmare that scares him into a lull full sleep. It’s the same one.

He dreams about his parents. In it, they were horrible, and cold, and mean. They gave him menial chores just to make him work, and they only fed him and gave him any sense of kindness if he got them all done, with no mistakes. Nothing out of place, nothing wrong. His father would purposefully ruin things just like the evil stepsisters, just so Butters couldn’t go to the ball, or in this case, got grounded. Grounded. He was always grounded.

His mother never did anything but support his dad, even when an apple could tell he was wrong, and Butters had actually done well.

He stayed like that, cleaning up after them, cooking, cleaning, digging holes for himself, for years. Years and years. They never stopped. They got worse. It was at points that Butters wondered why he was even alive, why he wasn’t dead. Why they weren’t dead. This part of the dream was the worst, because it’s the point where Butters gave up. He stopped doing his work, he stopped being their mindless slave, and stopped. They didn’t like it. They hated it. They hated him for it. They’d always hated him. They’d wished they got that abortion, religion be fucking damned, instead of having such a fuck up of a child. He knew it, because he heard them. He snapped. The dream snapped.

It was easy to murder them in the dream. Everything was both easy and impossible, because it was a dream. Butters didn’t waste time with details, just did what he knew how to do. Create chaos, no matter what.

Paper towels. Fucking ignorant stupid child. That’s what they said to him, when he used paper towels to wipe down a spill on the carpet. He didn’t know no better. They assumed he did, and they called him a fucking ignorant stupid child. Butters was eleven years old. Well, wasn’t that something, because in the dream, he ended up using paper towels to clean up their spilling blood from the carpet, as one last fuck you to the universe for messing something up.

It was easy in the dream, murdering his parents. He just used a kitchen knife. That’s all it took, a simple kitchen knife, his mother had recently started trusting him to use it to cook dinner for them. Of course, she trusted him didn’t she. Well he made her watch him stab her husband over and over, too late to do anything, and blood spilled. Oh yes it spilled and stained the carpet black. Black. It ruined the couch, but Butters wasn’t going to fucking clean it. Because he was just an ignorant fucking child, wasn’t he father? Oh wait? You’re dead now, I killed you in front of your little adoring wife. And I mixed her flowing blood with yours on the carpet, and wrapped your bodies up in paper towels. They stained pink in the white paper towels, and little Butters was soaked in it. In his parents blood.

The process of realising he’s not actually asleep, and he’s not actually dreaming, isn’t that shocking, He’s known for a while. He’s just thinking. Thinking about how he killed his mom and dad. How murdering his family led to the jury putting him in an institution for life. Not prison. But it may as well be.

Hmm.

He doesn’t go out, because he doesn’t want to see people. He doesn’t need to know what they’re thinking in the looks of their disgusted faces. Butters is happy though. He was finally free. It didn’t matter if he was killed or committed for murder, man-slaughter, whatever they ended up saying his trial was about. It was all a breath of relief, and apparently the look of relief to them, was the look of insanity. So be it. They know pain and sadness in their own lives, and that’s what they call happiness. Butters knows true happiness, and what did they do to him for it? Called him insane, locked him up, treat him like a psycho. So be it.

He’s happy now, and they aren’t.


	4. TeEnaGeRS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, hope you like long ass chapters. Get this fucker out, and comment your darkest thoughts please, because I need to know I'm not alone :)
> 
> Just kidding :p
> 
> I know I am.

KENNY

Hell was the ultimate burning boss level bitch of existence. Processing was equally the most aggravating and draining experience of anyone’s new dead life down under where the sky scorched black. It was also the act of it, waiting in a fucking line with poor agitated souls led astray on the clean cut path of Mormonism, some crying- unable to believe after all their hard work being good they landed here of all places. Those who were Christian thought they’d more likely perish into nothing and carbon like the atheists before they would go to Hell. This process was probably the most jarring for them. There were also the souls who wore strong masks of grim resignation. Those faces were the hardest to behold, because through all of humanities different expressions, those ones were the most depressing- truly the acknowledgement of giving up, of failure. They knew life was the ultimate lie, they’d figured out the meaning of life in being processed here, and the divine final understanding of it made them comatose vessels of nothing. Those were the ones who had truly lost their souls.

Kenny liked to stare at them. He liked to imagine empty brain spaces where their thoughts, hopes, fears, angst and happiness were usually housed. He wanted to know what was going on under there. He liked to imagine their complacency was peaceful, they no longer had any troubles, any worries, any stress, any remorse. Lucky bastards.

Existence was the most painful and tortuous experience of anything in the universe. It represented everything, and with that came all bad things. All good things too, don’t get him wrong, but when compared with _everything_ bad, good didn’t stand a fucking chance to shine against it. Very few understood this, very few were capable of understanding. Kenny understood. It wasn’t a divine understanding though, it didn’t make him beyond life and selfless, or devoted to anything. That’s where people misunderstood. Understanding the point of life, the point of the universe, it wasn’t enlightening. There was nothing good out of it. To be fair, there wasn’t bad either, it all depended on life’s interpretation.

But really, understanding it was easier than it seemed. It was just that nobody wanted to believe the real truth. People made use of gods and divine figures as though life had a greater meaning, a good meaning. Something to give them hope that their menial lives meant anything. They had to be optimistic, or they would crumble with the real knowledge of what they were. Which was nothing.

They were insects stuck to the windscreen of the universe, a pesky nuisance, but not even big enough to bother doing anything about, because in the end the universe had no feelings. It had no opinions about insects. It had no fucking consciousness. And that’s where people collapsed from their purpose if they were to accept the REAL truth. And what was that?

Why did it even matter what it was? Why did people _have_ to fucking understand it? They would only contract a case of complacency in the brain cells, because no normal person could interpret it. Because nothing fucking mattered. There was no point to the universe, to people, to fucking anything. We were insects going all for a pointless ride. The universe wasn’t omnipotent, it wasn’t anything. It wasn’t a personification. It just is. People just are, even if they try to convince themselves they is a meaning, there is a point to all this. There isn’t.

The truth would fucking destroy any else who actually comprehended it. It would turn them into soulless creatures of Hell when they finally understood. Kenny got to understand, he got to keep his soul, to a price he’d honestly rather not. Maybe not his sanity, but what the fuck was that anyway? The society of humanity made sure everything had a name, everything had a purpose. They couldn’t function without it. Maybe Kenny was that way once. Fucking ages ago, but it didn’t matter. Time didn’t go backwards, whatever those retarded time travel movies told otherwise. Nothing from the past mattered, because humans weren’t going anywhere that mattered in the future. Hell was just a construct for their souls to trick into accepting death wasn’t the final answer. Kenny knew it was. True death, final death. Death in clean, pure darkness, no more consciousness, no more worry, no more shitty existence. The true meaning of life, for Kenny, was to finds this glorious existence, which was no existence at all. He had tried everything.

But it was impossible, because the universe was tricking him into trying to believe after death, was only eternal heaven and hell, paradise or torment. No clean death. It was impossible.

Reminding himself of this was what got Kenny out of bed in the morning. It’s what got him out of bed, into his stretched out old parka, ratty with cigarette burns, and stained with the scent of ash and something vaguely like jizz and bologna. It’s what got him into this old comfortable parka, and out into the kitchen to scrounge the cupboards to fill his pointless existence vessel of a body with nutrients to keep his earth brain alive. Not that it even mattered to do so, because he’s always get the damage reversed down under. He’d eat leftover cherry flavoured pop tarts, because they had been on special, because the flavour was pretty disgusting, and normal richer people didn’t eat them, and could afford the nice chocolate and strawberry ones. He ate his share of poptarts, and heated up leftover Tupperware Gefilte fish Kyle gave him the day before into their crappy atomic microwave for Karen. He did this, and went back to his room and got his schoolbag, filled with loose stolen cigarettes and nearly empty lighters he’d pawned off classmates. It also contained a little compartment, handsewn into the sides by himself to hide its contents. It wasn’t anything flashy. Just a bottle of pills. For what? Who knows, but they didn’t get him high. Sometimes he got the schoolbag and went to school, and sometimes he fell back into the squeaky mattress of his, grabbing for the pill bottle contained in the hidden pocket. It was really chance, or luck of the draw. Whatever he decided in the that moment, because what did it matter? He die and everyone cry?

Don’t be fucking ridiculous.

They wouldn’t even remember they’d cried.

Sometimes he just wanted to believe the universe was actually self-aware. He needed to know if it had a greater purpose for him somehow, or if it just had the sickest sense of humour, or just got off on torturing little boys who couldn’t begin to understand why they couldn’t get to that sweet clean darkness.

Boy, when he was young he could have certainly used an explanation. He would have become a fucking worshipping child servant for whoever explained this shitty existence, and why the fuck he was the only one who was tormented by it.

Because it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t fucking entertaining. It fucking hurt. It hurt to die, over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over. And fucking OVER.

God was a malicious bastard, but Kenny didn’t really actually believe he had anything to do with it. He could stop it, surely, because he is all powerful. But he’s not the one who did it, he didn’t even get involved. Neither did Satan.

Kenny’s bet had been either the universe, or Cthulhu. He had been so damn close to figuring things out back there. He was about to die, finally, and get that clean darkness. He’d been so close. All that tentacled fucker had to do was stomp on him and squish his existence into nothing, and he could finally be gone, for good. He wouldn’t be happy about it, or relieved, because he’d be nothing. And he wanted that more than anything while he knew to want for anything in this pitiful existence.

So he got angry about the whole thing. Sometimes. He’d been more reckless in his early teenage years, back when his vessel gave birth to a flood of hormones that tortured the fuck out of his body by making him the fucking horniest motherfucking whore ever. Even more so now, if anything. But what can you do. His vessel was incapable of being content, so may as well get the next closest thing with anyone he could.

And that’s where the pill bottle comes in great handy. Because in the end, what did matter what he did in his life, in the wasted excuse of a power that became nothing but an overgrown nuisance. The last time he’d used this stupid curse for any human goodness whatsoever was when he was eleven years old. And that was one of the largest disappointing failures of his life, one of the biggest moments where he wondered at all why he even bothered. If the universe set out for him to have this to give something back, to be a martyr of sorts, why did they love him to fail so fucking often? Again, he couldn’t lose the idea that the universe was some crusty old goat watching the television of life, controlling everything with his remote of existence, including god, scraping the come of his blouse from when he wanked off to people’s tears and suffering.

This morning, he didn’t grab the backpack and trek out into the world to make his fake appearance. Sometimes he just spent unfiltered weeks coming back and forth without restraint. Sometimes it was easier to pass the painful time by switching his existence. Ha. Who else could say that and not be called an idealist narcissistic monk asshole? Only fucking him could get away with it. Nobody believed what they called his bullshit anyway, they couldn’t even remember that they’d witnessed him shredded to bits, decapitated, stabbed to death, bleed out in a dark alley pavement, killed by an STI on his dick. Dead as a box of cereal.

Kenny forced the bitter pills down his throat before he thought about it any longer. That’s what he does when living gets too hard. He dies. The pills are some out of date medication he pawns off the old pharmacist, who’s blind and naïve enough to believe the leftover unwanted pills are going to Kenny’s dog to do experiments on it. The joke’s on him, because Kenny doesn’t have as dog. And besides, Kenny would test the killable pills on his dad before giving anything harmful to an animal.

He’s comfortable doing it right now, knowing Karen has some stocks of Kyle’s uneaten food if he ends up being gone for longer than a day. Those times are pretty good while they last, but the consequences suck, because everyone thinks he goes on a drug bender for weeks and get super pissed at him for it for ages. It’s not true, Kenny has only one drug. He’s addicted to dying.

The horribly dodgy pills work their magic a treat. He’s out in half an hour, completely painless, just numb. Happens every time. He likes to ponder shit just before they take effect, in that hazy afterglow setting, or beforeglow of his final peace. As if it’s fucking final.

Sometimes he flirts with the idea of asking Satan to properly kill him. He’s tried before, and even if he kissed Satan’s ass enough, or sacrificed a goat for him, it never ends up working. Whatever fucking curse latched itself to him, it’s more powerful than the power of fucking Satan, which is bullshit, but apparently true. It pisses him off.

He barely ever goes to heaven. The only times he ever went was when Heaven selfishly needed him to save them. They never gave him final redemption either, just shitty consolation prizes like golden statues and palaces in heaven, which he’d never return to anyway, because he’d just be reborn and dropped back into the regular shitty programming of hell. Currently counting, his otherworldly properties consisted of 12 mansions and palaces located in the inaccessible taunt of heaven.

Sometimes he thinks about Karen, wondering how she was actually faring in the shitty Compton drama school they called South Park. Kenny wouldn’t let her get involved in the drug and gang divisions between the boys and girls, he wouldn’t forgive himself if she turned into the foretold white trash curse of the McCormicks. It was too late for him, he couldn’t save himself, but he had enough left in him to get her the fuck away until he could afford to get her out of South Park, and somewhere actually good and redeemable. Until then, he was just relieved about the fact that she wasn’t entirely alone when Kenny couldn’t protect her. She had her girlfriend, who was every bit as scary as her older brother Craig, without the domineering height and love of switch blades. Plus, everyone knew fucking with Tricia and Karen, meant fucking with Craig and Kenny, so they just stayed away. That’s partly why he built his reputation up in the first place. He had a bit of an unspoken bond with Craig, who although on the surface couldn’t seem to give two shits about Tricia, still shanked any bitches who tormented her, and by automatic extension, her sweet beloved girlfriend little Karen.

Sometimes he thinks about Butters. It usually happens by accident, when he’s not trying or even remotely considering what happened. It just happens, and he’s always left feeling a little pathetic and weepy afterwards. He’s not fucking crying buckets of tears or anything, it’s just that his pissed off attitude teeters off the edge of bitter sadness more than fiery anger. He can’t help it, the whole thing just depresses him.

Even more so that he hasn’t even seen his face for literally years, and he never sees him down in hell. That should be a relief, that he’s not dead, but it could still mean that the pure soul went to heaven instead if he did die, in that case meaning Kenny had an even more unlikely chance of seeing him. For Kenny was not pure, he was not clean. He was a fucking monster, who belonged with the burning dead down below. And he would bet anyone 10 million dollars that he’d be going there this time too.

He could feel himself getting dizzier, so he was close. His thought processes were less restrained, freeflowing, like when someone was coming off from anaesthesia and said everything unfiltered. Butters had always been the best kid in South Park, the kindest, the cutest, the sweetest. Everything started going to shit when he left, and Kenny never stopped hating everyone for it. For they were the ones who had pushed him over the edge. They couldn’t expect him to just keep on taking the punches, the taunts, the abuse. Kenny knew one day he’d explode and go viral, but he’d thought it would be more in the direction of- I don’t give a fuck, gimme those drugs, gimme that sex, gimme whatever I can put inside me, variety. Kenny had actually been looking forward to it. So he was the most shocked out of everybody when the direction he actually went in was: I’ll become a crazed killer and murder my parents on the spot.

Fuck, Kenny actually had a crush on him back then. He couldn’t help thinking about him, and honestly, that hasn’t stopped. His thoughts just slice with an edge of miserable shock about how everything played out in the end. It’s the worst thing, and EVEN then, Kenny is still fucking proud of him for standing up for himself, after all this time, after everyone moved on. He wished he knew where he was being held.

He couldn’t speak this shit to anyone, because they just called him crazy, they all thought Stotch was a convicted serial murderer. It was fair- sure, he didn’t disagree, but they just didn’t understand, they all just saw the horror. They forgot who he really was, they just remembered the killer, not the sweet angel of a little boy who couldn’t handle the evil of South Park that seeped into his pure bones. It overtook him, and Kenny doesn’t fucking blame him. South Park is the curse, the real _hell_ , he’s sure.

Kenny finally drifts off and dies. He knows the feeling very well after all this time. He made sure to lock the door earlier so Karen wouldn’t come in and witness a trauma she’d forget as soon as he came back. But he’s barely aware of himself as it happens. It’s pure darkness, he can feel his own consciousness lift from the physical being of life. This part is always magnificent, what he thinks the final death might be like, if just a taste. He wants it so fucking bad. From drifting to being torn apart is always the sure sign that his plea for heaven has been denied. It means he’s in the process of being dragged across realities in infinite torture and pain. He feels it this time, barely capable of describing the traumatising sights before him as he’s processed into the kingdom of suffering. Even after all this time, his eyes can’t see the distant reality squeezed from his eyeballs and leaked into his brain, it’s too fast, too powerful, too otherworldly for even him. He can feel his body getting shredded, pulled, pinned, torched. It’s agony, and he pinches his eyes shut tight and bites his tongue to get it over with. It happens every time, and he always hates the pain, and can’t get enough. He keeps coming back, so he must feel the need of it like a penalty for screwing up his purpose, which was never explained to him. That’s the trick, it’s what they do, it’s how they get to you. It gets to him, so he can’t say it’s ineffective. It’s so effective that his eyes had new eyes, seeing double like an acid tripping monk. It’s an experience he can’t even describe.

Then suddenly, he’s spat out the other side of the deafening experience, completely physically unharmed, and mentally scarred with new images flashing across his mind, real ones. Hell.

Burning, heat, suffering, agony, pain, remorse, hatred. Just a few words to describe the constant whispers in the air, the whole place. It’s like you can hear the begging souls who did wrong cry out for help, with no idea where they actually are. They’re just there. It’s like a scented candle in a shop, just adds themed atmosphere. Sick.

He never felt like he belonged here. He didn’t belong up in heaven either, like some other poor assholes who ended up here claimed they deserved to be. He didn’t even belong on earth. Everything felt foreign really, so his only hope was to just be nothing. He couldn’t even have that, so what was the fucking point.

He usually hung out by the big house while he was down here. There wasn’t much else to do but suffer if you weren’t already chums with Satan, which Kenny had been since third grade. If you were, the place was a lot nicer and easier to deal with. One thing they didn’t say in the bible, was that Satan was fiercely loyal to his friends to a fault.

Kenny enjoyed Satan’s family too, they were pretty entertaining. Damien was a prick, still as ever, but he’d mellowed the fuck out for him since Pip died.

There was no mainstream transportation in hell, the only way to get anywhere was walk, or be important enough to teleport. It was pretty shitty, but Kenny didn’t get tired or anything, because he was dead. It was just time consuming, and there was nothing to do but kick the little black imps that crowded the place as he made his way up to Satan’s preside. The sky was a dark red blur, spitting out fire and black smoke, and if Kenny’s lungs mattered anymore, he’d be choking to death. Ha, death. As if, he’d just go through that tedious process again and land in the same place.

Kenny lets himself into the grand old stone structure, grunting to slip past the heavy stone doors that are an absolute bitch to move without powers. That’s the trick, that anyone who doesn’t have them can’t get into the place. Kenny’s made a caveat for himself though, so Satan’s magic lets him just get through. Only him, the only other human allowed in the place doesn’t even leave, like ever. Kenny’s never seen him anywhere else.

Once he finally gets through, cursing the difficulty to himself to open some goddamn doors, he heads in and looks for someone in one of the many grand old rooms. It’s mostly old vines and stone work, and brutal furniture that makes some of the place look like a giant killer bird nests here, or maybe that’s all the broken shit all over the place. Kenny bets everything he has that Damien made those messes in tantrums he frequently has.

Kenny searches the rooms until he finds someone, finally peeking upon a large compass with a grand ripped up lounge and grand mess littered all around the place. Sitting on this torn up lounge is a small wispy-haired blonde teenage boy sipping a cup of something- likely tea.

‘’Ah, Pip. There you are,’’ Kenny exhaled, annoyed for this taking so goddamn long to find anybody in this labyrinth. Pip jumped in surprise and turned to Kenny, wilting back until he properly saw him, before making the recognition.

‘’Oh dear, Kenny! My bad, I didn’t see you there,’’ Pip exclaimed, putting the cup down on the bronze coffee table and standing up quickly.

‘’Hey dude. It’s been a while,’’ Kenny said, remembering that it had been two days since he was here. He hadn’t a clue how this guy was counting the days in this topsy turvy world where time was irrelevant. But- he had asked in the past how Pip was ageing, since he’d died when he was ten, and right now looked like an- abeit little, seventeen year old. He actually wished he hadn’t asked. Let’s just say screwing the son of the devil had some powerful perks.

‘’Oh, Kenneth, why- I feel like you were only here a few days ago,’’ Pip argued, widening his big blue eyes. They kind of reminded him of Butters. Nope, stop thinking about it, quickly.

‘’What the hell are you doing here?’’ a deep gilded voice growled from the other entrance in the room, masking the room in furious dark.

‘’Dramatic as always,’’ Kenny laughed as Damien stood there at the entrance menacingly, black hair and tight clothes, fists and jaw clenched. His powerful deep eyes darted between Kenny and Pip, burning a hole in the room at the force it conveyed, which Kenny could only convey as: back the fuck off him. He’d always been insecure about Kenny stealing Pip away, which Kenny found fucking hilarious, because the fact that the antichrist was insecure, and the fact that he wasn’t completely certain Pip completely and willingly belonged to him. It just made Kenny wanna fuck with him.

‘’Why are you in my house?’’ Damien barked, striding forward and moving to Pip’s side, who wilted beside him willfully, as though he was being provided cover to danger.

‘’Dude, I’m always here, you’re gonna have to get used to it,’’ Kenny said.

‘’I don’t have to get used to shit, you’re a parasite, and you’re on my property,’’ Damien said. Kenny snickered.

‘’As far as I know, there’s only one kind of property you really care about,’’ Kenny said knowingly, wagging his eyes between Damien and Pip suggestively. He loved fucking with these two, it was an excellent way to pass the time. Damien seethed, his face instantly growing angry red, while Pip lowered his head, hiding a little smirk that Kenny caught.

‘’You’re out of here McCormick! You will burn for eternity if you so much as look at him again!’’ Damien said, moving up his fist and clenching it at Kenny. Kenny was thrown to the wall and pinned they by pure invisible force, Damien tensing and burning him with just the look in his fiery eyes.

‘’Damien! Stop this!’’ Pip shouted, grabbing Damien’s arm while Kenny watched, incapacitated. He should’ve known this would happen. Damien had the shortest temper he’s ever known. Even shorter than Kyle’s, and that was saying something.

‘’Get off, he’s been fucking with me forever, I’ll send him to the forth layer and fucking keep him there,’’ Damien said, shirking off Pip’s hold.

‘’You love it,’’ Kenny rasped, his voice toast while in his force. He couldn’t resist getting that one in.

‘’You shut up! Pip belongs to me, you so much as look at him with want in your eyes, and I will fucking end you,’’ Damien growled, tightening his force. Kenny coughed a laugh while Pip sputtered.

‘’Damien! He doesn’t want me! Put him down, bloody hell! He’ll be reprocessed!’’ Pip cried out. Damien grunted, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

‘’Maybe he deserves it,’’ Damien said, but his grip weakened, the fire slowly dying from his eyes.

‘’We’re friends, love, that’s all. There’s no need to be jealous,’’ Pip said softly, clutching Damien’s arm. Damien widened his eyes at him.

‘’I’m not jealous!’’ Damien said to Pip angrily, finally releasing Kenny from the wall, where he crumbled to the ground, coughing. Jesus Christ.

‘’Of course you’re not,’’ Pip grinned, touching his cheek affectionately. Damien huffed, unclenching his fists, but relenting to being coddled. Kenny watched while he recovered, deciding when Damien got physically pissed off, it wasn’t so cute. Like it was his first time though, Damien always had a boner with doling out abuse and pain to him, to anyone who even slightly threatened his whole kingdom orbiting around the little British crumpet beside him.

Kenny shirked away from them as Pip continued doling out his specialty brand of worshipping love to Damien, who didn’t openly reciprocate, but certainly didn’t refuse his attentions. Kenny ignored them and looked around for something to drink around here.

Before remembering that he was dead, and he couldn’t eat or drink anything. Fuck. It had been a trying day so far. Right now, he actually just wanted his bed, he wanted to sleep forever.

‘’Goddamn, don’t you guys have any drinks dead smucks can drink? What’s that tea stuff Pip was drinking earlier?’’ Kenny asked, wandering around the room.

‘’Oh, that wasn’t tea. I just like pretending to drink from the cup, it’s comforting,’’ Pip smiled, and Kenny groaned, starting to remember why he’d never hung out with him back in South Park. Melvins man.

‘’What the fuck do you come here for anyway? My father is barely ever here,’’ Damien said, holding Pip from under his arm, where Pip settled in snugly.

‘’What do you think? The company. There’s nothing else to do here,’’ Kenny groaned, finding no sources of drinks in the room. Damien probably had a hoard of the real fancy good shit for himself, just to be a bigger asshole.

‘’Are you too stupid to understand that maybe we don’t want your company?’’ Damien grumbled.

‘’Nonsense, of course Kenny’s welcome here,’’ Pip said kindly.

‘’Since when the fuck was that your decision? It’s my fucking house,’’ Damien said. Kenny would probably piss himself being directed with that kind of abuse every second, but he had to tip his hat to Pip for being so damn unfazed by it. Were they that bad to him as kids?

‘’Well, I’d think so, after living here six hundred years,’’ Pip said, hands now on his hips.

‘’Again with your fucking years- time doesn’t work like that down here!’’ Damien yelled. Pip just rolled his eyes, and Kenny sighed and plonked his ass on the ripped up couch, giving up on doing anything else. He was now hoping to leave quickly, but when the hell was that his decision. He’d stay down here if he could, just to save the fucking effort.

‘’Do you guys just fuck after every fight? Cos I’m willing to watch if you need my help,’’ Kenny joked, not really into their growing shouts now. Damien cut him a poisonous glare, and Kenny blew him a kiss in return, leaning his cheek on his hand.

‘’You won’t tell me anything! How am I supposed to entertain myself, I have hobbies Damien, I have a bloody life!’’ Pip indignantly shouted, raising his voice more than Kenny would ever see when he was alive.

‘’Your life is with me, nothing else. I fucking own you,’’ Damien growled.

‘’Twenty-first century Damien, slaves don’t exist,’’ Kenny reminded.

‘’And you fuck off. I’m not in fucking America, I don’t have to follow their pathetic protocols,’’ Damien turned to him, throwing a warning pitch of force at him, freezing Kenny in place.

‘’It’s no wonder your father changed Hell, even he knew that you can’t live like that!’’ Pip said. Damien got dark quickly, and Kenny pulled his legs up to his chest, waiting for the retaliation. Despite Pip’s ongoing wimpishness, he had some serious balls to even bring up Damien’s dad, which was like the ultimate bad omen.

Damien got closer to Pip, his body burning and tensed, while Pip stood his ground and stared him down with his own unburning eyes.

‘’You don’t fucking talk about that. Ever!’’ Damien screeched, making Kenny wince at his volume. The pitch slightly reminded Kenny of the dumbass squeaky voice Damien had when he came up to earth in third grade. But mostly it was a column of black fire.

‘’Why not? That’s what happened isn’t it? Satan changed Hell from your glorious torture chamber to a holiday resort from Hawaii,’’ Pip boldly announced. Damien eye twitched, and his hand crunched into a fist. For a second Kenny thought Damien would hit him, and again Kenny was unnerved by how fearless Pip remained.

‘’I will fucking torture you if you _ever_ say that again.’’

‘’You’ve been saying that for six hundred years! But I never even got torture treatment like the others!’’ Pip cried out.

‘’Because I fucking own you. Consider yourself so lucky you little shit!’’ Damien said.

‘’Guys,’’ Kenny said. They ignored him. Kenny started feeling the telltale tingles that conveyed his little joytrip down here was ending.

‘’Please, Damien, if anything you’re mine. You keep me in this place, don’t let me go out, and yet you’re so incapable of letting me actually do anything that doesn’t directly involve you,’’ Pip said.

‘’You’re a little bastard,’’ Damien growled.

‘’You could’ve chosen anybody Damien, and you chose me,’’ Pip said.

‘’Is this just another angle to get me to admit some asinine love for you?’’ Damien groaned, turning away and rubbing at his eyes.

‘’Well you figured that one out, maybe you can figure out why I’m still here then,’’ Pip responded, turning away and crossing his arms poutily.

‘’Guys! Just go and have sex already. My counselling session is over,’’ Kenny said, the physical fading beginning.

‘’Oh dear, so soon Kenny?’’ Pip said, suddenly sad and pathetic looking again.

‘’He’s literally been here a million times,’’ Damien commented. Pip stared at him, and Damien glared back.

‘’Nice, build up the sexual tension with a staring contest,’’ Kenny said, glad he managed to get that one in before he left. He’d probably be back tomorrow if he got bored.

‘’Well?’’ Pip said to Damien when Kenny was like half gone, barely seeing anything. He did catch Damien drag Pip forward with his powers and forcefully kiss him, while Pip surrendered control and let him. Fuckin’ demons and weirdos make surprisingly good pairs, Kenny decided when he finally disappeared from the realm of hell, back to be reborn.

Great, his least favourite part.

Waking up, and remembering that it barely fucking mattered where he was, where he ended up. He wasn’t fan of waking up, also because he was reintroduced to his depressingly dark life where he still slept on the poor dirt ass bed he’d slept in when he was seven years old, when back then he shared with Kevin. When Karen was born Kenny got to have it to himself, after Kevin got a second hand one they found on a throw out night, and Karen got Kenny’s old cot. Now they all had their own poor cheap ass beds, but Karen still shared a room with Kevin.

Kevin was still living at home, following his dear parents steps in not going to college, and therefore resuming the pure uneducated McCormick family line. Kenny was betting his stakes that Karen would be the first to break it, because he was putting all the effort he could spare when not earning money to making sure she studied and had a future to hope for. His heart would truly break for real if she didn’t make it out of South Park forever. There was no way Kenny was going to college, he gave up on planning for that in fifth grade, when he remembered his grades were shit, he had no talents, and he had no work goals other than surviving. So he’d likely end up working at a gas station, or just keep going getting closeted homo fuckers money by sucking them off at school.

That was his depressing life, and every time he woke up in his dingy bed, he remembered it, and lost enthusiasm to live completely. He packed his pills in his backpack always, just in case. He’d rather a nice painless death than an agonising one, since god likes to give him excruciating daily deaths if he doesn’t do it himself. It’s just a compromise he’s stuck with.

Kenny woke up with his ratty old orange parka still on, though fitting it at his height was a baffling occurrence. Sometimes he suspected it was cursed or some shit to still be in existence all these years, but he didn’t particularly question it, because it acted as his safety cocoon when he just couldn’t give a big enough shit about life to participate in it. Plus it was warmer than the asscrack freezer of his unheated house.

He never ate breakfast most of the days he decided to get up, mostly because they was nothing to eat. Kenny had to make sure Karen was the one who got those leftover Jewish meals left by Kyle, and not Kevin or his parents, who would say they make the money that pay everything in the house. Even if that was bullshit, and they made nothing they didn’t spend on drugs and vodka.

Karen was sitting at the kitchen table spooning in some kind of soup like thing Ike gave them a couple of days ago. Sometimes Kenny felt guilty, he hated feeling like a charity case, but he couldn’t deny they could really fucking use the meals, and he’d probably hate Kyle if he tossed the food he didn’t eat. He wanted Karen to be as healthy as possible, then her brain for could function and she could get the hell out of here.

Kenny pat her head as he walked past, digging through the cupboards for anything he could eat that he wouldn’t have to steal from school. The kitchen was mostly sterilised of anything edible, some stringy looking beans in a can left over. Kenny checked the date, and they were two months out. He grabbed it anyway, pulling open the can handle (thank god this one had one, they still didn’t have an opener). He ate it as he walked out the door, slinging his old backpack over one shoulder. In the past he walked Karen to school, but recently she’d been refusing his offers to by walking by herself. Probably just learning to be a teenager, though Kenny suspected she went to Tricia’s house first and they went the rest of the way together. He hoped that was the case, because he didn’t like the idea of his little sister being alone on the cold mornings in South Park, bums and weirdos about.

Kenny choked down the horrible damp beans as he walked through the worse neighbourhoods of South Park, still on the other side of the tracks. It’s probably a good thing that Kenny never got the chance to have little Butters. He knew from the start that he’d taint him with the truth of his miserable life. It’s why he hid from everyone in his parka when he was a kid. All these adults talking shit and telling him he’d be breaking a lot of hearts one day with that face of his. So he hid it, until that parka couldn’t even contain him anymore. He would’ve not spoken to Butters forever if he could’ve helped it, but Butters edged into his life like the sunlight he was, and Kenny couldn’t hide away from him in his darkness. He didn’t even want to. And now look where the fuck he was.

Arriving at school was both annoying and the most enjoyable part of the day. It was enjoyable because he got to get into the place wherever he wanted, being basically the hired concubine for both sides. All sides really, because not only did he offer his shamelessness to the boy and girl gangs, but he had a permanent seat in the outcast gang too, or more accurately Stan and Kyle’s section of hell. He usually just went in whichever way was easiest, but sometimes he just didn’t feel like owing sex to Wendy or Bebe, or promising Cartman new recruits for his side, and ‘try’ and get Stan and Kyle into the gang. Those guys would probably commit suicide before joining Cartman’s side, and Kyle would probably kill himself if they had to join Wendy’s, because she’d be on Stan like a chipmunk climbing a tree, and Kyle would probably be forced to watch. That’s how fucked up his young little schoolmates were now.

Kevin and Scott were watching the front doors of the school, like good little guard dogs. They both stared hatefully, and Kenny flipped them off as he walked past, deciding he’d rather not deal with Cartman’s shit today. Sometimes it was just a coin flip. He headed around the sides, chucking away his now empty bean can with the toilet water they called brine. It was pretty nasty, but hey, it was fucking food.

The sides were controlled by the girls. Kenny was typically on more friendly terms with them, mostly because their savagery only showed when they were threatened. Kenny made sure he wasn’t betraying anyone, because they would know immediately what information he spilled. Although it was why he was more cherished than just some bum who got off on both sides, because they were constantly trying to crack into him for details they would never get. As far as Kenny was concerned, he was loyal to primarily Stan and Kyle, who’d managed to stay friends with him despite all, and Karen.

He passed Heidi and Nelly, who gave him hard glares, and he blew them both a kiss, which they harrumphed and reluctantly smiled at. And they called him heartthrob. He kept going until he wandered into the neutral territory, from his perspective, though it was known around the school that it belonged to the misfits. Misfits Kenny’s ass.

It only belonged to the gayest, in love motherfuckers in town.

Only Stan was in their area presently, chewing his nails and checking his phone every ten seconds.

‘’Where’s Kyle?’’ Kenny asked when he approached, trying to remember which side owed him cigarettes. It was pretty bad if he asked the wrong gang, but it’s not like he hadn’t been beaten to pulps before. Stan looked like he hadn’t slept, had heavy bags under his eyes. Kenny supposed he would have trouble, considering the bombshell news Kyle laid on them the other day. Ever since Stan’s been clingy and moody. A general pain in the ass. And Kyle’s been distant. Kenny’s too high to really care. He may have had a few other kinds of pills before school. But no one heard that from him.

‘’I don’t know. He’s never late to class, never,’’ Stan fretted, looking out as if Kyle would just appear.

‘’You think he’s ditching?’’ Kenny asked, checking his coat for loose cigarettes he may have missed.

‘’He doesn’t ditch without telling me,’’ Stan said. ‘’Oh god, I feel like something’s happened.’’

‘’What?’’ Kenny is starting to get vaguely worried for him, mostly because Stan looks on the verge of mental breakdown, probably thinking up terrible things. Maybe he’s drunk, that’s always 70% likely.

‘’Dude, he’s been fucked ever since saying that shit about the past, what if he’s hurt himself?’’ Stan asked, pulling at his hair. ‘’I should go and check on him.’’

‘’Stan, calm the fuck down. You know how Kyle is, he wouldn’t do anything that drastic without telling you or something. It’s fine,’’ Kenny assured him, starting to get a little on edge himself. Truthfully he didn’t know Kyle’s head all that well anymore. Ever since he sort of went off with smoking and his health issues, he’s been shady and distant for a while. Stan hasn’t noticed because his own fucked up family problems pushed him into the head of a flask. Kenny’s observant though, he learnt shit being quiet all those years.

‘’I feel like a fucking failure. Why didn’t you tell me Kyle gives you his food?’’ Stan asked, heartbrokenly. Kenny had been expecting that question, though he felt guilty now. He saw Stan as a kind of brother, and he’d been ignoring all pangs of discomfort about this shady dealings with food Kyle’s been doing to avoid Stan’s concern. Kenny just stayed out of it, mostly because he really needed Karen to stay healthy. He supposed he couldn’t now that shit hit the fan.

‘’I’m sorry dude. But Karen really needs them, I didn’t wanna spoil that,’’ Kenny said. Stan huffed, but he nodded like he understood, turning away and checking his phone again.

‘’If he doesn’t show up on the bell I’m going to check on him,’’ Stan said solemnly.

‘’Yeah, just do that to be safe,’’ Kenny said, patting Stan’s shoulder to assure him. Stan was like a lost puppy when Kyle wasn’t around, and while heartbreaking, it was mostly irritating, because he indulged his very expansive self-pity like a pig rolling in mud.

Kenny left him to wallow and worry over Kyle. Kenny was mostly confident he’d be okay, was probably just ditching and forgot to tell Stan. Even that he knows is bullshit. He starts to feel a sifting in his stomach, upset by bad suspicions.

**

Kenny was mostly open about his non spoken business he ran for himself. Everyone knew about it, surely, but he made sure it wasn’t actually blared out through speakers, because he didn’t want Karen to know what piece of shit he actually was. He needed her to believe in him still, because without it he’d just give up completely, and he was close enough as it was. He was hanging by the thread that he could protect her from any real danger, including and especially this hell of a school. He needed to believe he was still Mysterion, a creature of the night, but one that could save the day, in his own way. Other than that mindset, he’d given up being Mysterion completely.

He needed the money from the business. It was all he could do. He still worked normal jobs, of course. He did part time in Lui Kim’s shop, who was still alive, and now paying him ‘teen wages’. His word, and the pay was pretty shit, but Kim treated him well, they had a history, and Kenny felt that was worth more than a few extra bucks slaving away at a gas station or lumber mill that would treat him like shit. It wouldn’t matter, but he earned all he could to keep his fucking family going, so whatever. The sorta prostitution was just the most effective way to get the cash. Plus it made him those sweet alliances that he used to keep himself and Karen safe from gangs. No one wanted to fuck with the piss poor skinny slut with the power fists. His curse’s doing, he suspects, or maybe he’s just naturally tougher. Either way, people don’t fuck with him.

Class is a huge fuckfest. Not in an orgy sense, but in that it’s very split down the middle, and crossing anything results in major bashes. For some reason, they usually consist of Kyle and Craig fighting each other. And neither of them are even in a gang. It’s confusing, because Kyle barely ever causes them, and Kenny is sure as shit that Craig doesn’t even care enough to start them. It just happens for some reason. He suspected something bigger was afoot, but he had not a clue why. He stayed the fuck out of it. Lord knows how many times Craig had actually _stabbed_ him for so much as looking at Tweek when he actually turned up at school. And they weren’t even fucking dating, so it just made Kenny more baffled. But even then, he wasn’t getting pounded on as much as Kyle. Something seriously fucked up was going on.

Kenny barely cared. He made friends with each gang leader, because it was safer for Karen. He couldn’t give a fuck about himself, they couldn’t kill him. Not properly anyway, and he would fucking beg for that if it were possible, but it’s not, so he doesn’t bother caring about that either. He fucked whoever he could, because it was easier to satisfy his husk of a body with casual soulless sex that left the others satisfied and him empty and even more soulless. He wouldn’t find love, what was the fucking point? He couldn’t date because he physically couldn’t date someone without major crazy complications in his dying factor. Not that he even wanted anybody, everyone in this world sucked.

Karen was basically the only thing keeping him going right now in this body, so of course he dedicated his soul to looking out for her. That included eating with her, though he never ate, just smoked his pawned cigarettes and tried not to feel pervy for being in the younger kids section of the school, assigned to freshmen. He got looks as though he was trying to pick up on younger girls and shit, though he could never actively do that, despite his lack of a soul. They were just as little and innocent as Karen, and it just made Kenny wanna protect them too, though his ‘protector’ days were long over.

Kyle had never arrived at school that day, and Kenny watched as Stan ditched school just like he said he would. He hoped nothing was wrong, sincerely. He would not be happy if he died the next day only to find fucking Kyle there. Jesus, the thought was actually chilling, seeing someone he cared about on the other side of the hells Kenny resided in.

Kenny tried to decide what he’d even do if that happened, at lunch, sitting crosslegged beside Karen and Tricia on the four ball court in the freshman area, their usual lunch spot. Karen and Tricia had been best friends for years, and girlfriends for nearly just as long. Kenny slightly loved that, that they’d had each other to depend on, after all this time. Even if Tricia was the same spawn as shithead Craig, she was the best chance Karen had in friends, in love, in getting the fuck out of here. They spoke about it together like a distant dream, and Kenny kept them hoping, destroying any hard edge of disappointment in their hope when it appeared, because someone had to keep their faith, and Kenny lost his the first time he came back to life, ironically.

‘’Did you hear about what happened in your class Kenny?’’ Karen asked with big worried hazel eyes, holding half a sandwich Tricia offered her.

‘’No, what happened?’’ Kenny asked, puffing out a breath of smoke. He didn’t really keep up on affairs that much, though everyone for some reason assumed he did.

‘’Apparently two of the leaders had a big fight yesterday,’’ Karen said worriedly. Kenny found that too precious. It reminded him of Butters.

‘’Wendy and Cartman?’’ Kenny said. Those two were the biggest hypocrites in the world, and probably some of the most dangerous people at school.

‘’I heard they fuck after all their fights,’’ Tricia said excitedly, leaning forward and taking a bite of her half of the sandwich.

‘’Really?!’’ Karen asked in surprise. Tricia nodded enthusiastically, chewing.

‘’Where’d you hear that?’’ Kenny asked, suspicious. It was absolutely true, Wendy and Cartman had a pretty fucked up relationship, including frequent fights, shared STD’s from Wendy’s action on the side, more fights, and more sex in hidden cupboards and shit in school.

‘’I heard it from Ike and Firkle, they said Kyle told them when he was high,’’ Tricia answered.

‘’Damn, you know he wasn’t supposed to tell people. It’s like this big not so secret secret they have. You shouldn’t tell anyone else, they might come for you for it, you know those two have a lot of members either side,’’ Kenny warned, reminding himself to punch Kyle for telling Ike that, who was the biggest smart ass blabber mouth in school, not even giving a fuck that he had people wanted his blood for a while. He had the total non-caring support of the goths though.

‘’We won’t tell anyone Kenny,’’ Karen assured him, patting his arm with still worried eyes. Tricia rolled her eyes.

‘’It’s not like everyone doesn’t know, we’re not the first people Ike told,’’ Tricia said.

‘’That kid is gonna get beaten up so fucking badly one day,’’ Kenny said, shaking his head. Tricia laughed, and Karen gasped.

‘’They wouldn’t!’’ Karen said.

‘’They totally would babe,’’ Tricia laughed, grabbing Karen’s arm and holding it calmly.

‘’But he’s not part of the gangs!’’ Karen denied, reaching for her back. ‘’Ike isn’t in the grade where all that happens. You won’t let him get hurt will you Ken?’’

‘’Um, he’s not my brother. That’s Kyle’s job, if he comes back,’’ Kenny said, forgetting her shouldn’t say that.

‘’What?’’ Karen asked. ‘’What’s wrong with Kyle?’’

‘’Uh,’’ Kenny laughed. ‘’It’s a long and complicated story, you wouldn’t wanna hear it. It’s pretty gross,’’ Kenny said, taking another drag.

‘’Tell us!’’ Tricia gasped, sitting up on her knees and leaning over Karen’s head, holding it and stroking it. That girl’s obsession with morbid shit scared Kenny a lot of the time.

‘’Not in front of Karen,’’ Kenny said. Karen huffed.

‘’I’m not a baby Kenny. I wanna know too. Please?’’

Kenny would argue, because as far he was concerned, she was always the family baby, his baby. She could be thirty and he’d think of her as that ever still.

‘’Shit, okay fine. It’s on you though.’’

Kenny couldn’t believe he was actually saying it, one of the most horrific moments that ever happened in this town.

‘’Um, you guys ever watch the human centipede?’’ Kenny started, hoping Karen hadn’t. Karen wrinkled her nose.

‘’I’ve seen what it’s about, but it looks too gross,’’ Karen said.

‘’I’ve watched it! Are you saying that happened?’’ Tricia said, boggling from over Karen’s head.

‘’Well, uh. Yeah, so Kyle was maybe ten when he accepted this fucked up new policy on an apple tablet without reading it. He was like, one of the only people who didn’t read shit before accepting it, we all knew it was bad. But that happened, and he inadvertently agreed to being part of an experiment that largely involved the premise of that movie,’’ Kenny ended there, not even wanting to go into it, feeling his stomach upset even more. Honestly, he would not be fucking surprised if something happened to him. It was truly enough to lose hope of life about.

‘’Wait- you’re saying that happened? To Kyle?’’ Tricia said, her jaw dropping. Karen looked sick, and she moaned in her throat. Kenny felt fucking horrible instantly.

‘’What happened after?’’ Karen asked.

‘’Oh, uh, he can’t eat properly anymore, he’s anorexic, or something,’’ Kenny said, wanting to comfort Karen, who looked sick to the stomach with dread. Before he could, Tricia noticed, and she gasped and pulled Karen close to her.

‘’Karen! Are you okay?’’ Tricia asked in concern, putting her hands on Karen’s cheeks and leaning in, peering at her.

‘’I don’t feel so well,’’ Karen said, her voice this small thing. Tricia moaned and kissed her cheeks all over, pulling her close. Kenny watched warily in concern, wishing he’d never said this fucking disturbing story at all.

‘’Oh Karebear, it’s okay, it’s over now,’’ Tricia said, stroking Karen’s hair as she put her face in Tricia’s chest. Kenny stared wide eyed at Tricia, who narrowed her eyes at him, and flipped him off. Typical Tucker.

‘’Sorry, but you know. You asked,’’ Kenny said guiltily. Karen finally sat back up, red cheeked but otherwise looking less sick.

‘’I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so weak stomached or something,’’ Karen said.

‘’Baby, don’t be sorry. Kenny’s just an asshole,’’ Tricia said, leaning in and pecking Karen on the lips. Karen smiled moonily at her, and Kenny got the idea that his presence was probably overstayed. He sighed and got up, flicking the remains of his cigarette out, glancing at them as they kept pressing chaste little kisses together, getting a little deeper.

As he walked away, he felt overloaded. He knew Karen didn’t do anything more hardcore than kiss Tricia, and he was immensely relieved, also a little disturbed that eventually that will change. Everything does.

Kenny wondered what Stan found out as he headed back inside the school, slipping past two people he recalls fucking. It’s all a goddamn blur really, and he doesn’t regret it, but he’s not particularly proud either.

He thought he might check up on them at Kyle’s house after school just to make sure, Stan’s hysteria effectively worrying him.

Kenny just ditched school, pretty goddamn certain he wouldn’t be learning a valuable skill for life learning about crops and shit for the next hour. He’d probably drop out soon. He could use a full time job that pays proper wages, instead of the shitty circumstances he found himself stuck in this place, sucking people off like a whore and stealing cigarettes from unsuspecting sons of bitches like a thief. He had no pride, but he could still be useful to Karen for a few years before she left for college and he officially died a husk. It’s what he wanted.

Kenny walked to Kyle’s house in the sludgy cold, curling himself tighter in his parka as he stepped through snow. It wasn’t a very long journey, Stan and Kyle lived relatively close to school. Kenny had to walk further from his house, the bad side shoved as far from the rest of town as possible.

Something was wrong when Kenny arrived. Sheila’s car was parked out front, which was weird, because she was always at work, as Kyle always mentioned. Kenny’s stomach sifted uncomfortably, fearing the worst. He walked to the front door, trying to listen for anything.

He opened the front door, heart beating hard, and his chest dropped when he heard crying from the kitchen. Running towards the noise, Kenny was horrified as Sheila sat at the kitchen table with her face in her hands, sobbing hysterically.

‘’Mrs Broflovski?’’ Kenny asked in shock. Sheila startled and looked at Kenny with red tearful eyes. ‘’What happened?’’

Sheila didn’t answer, just put her face back and kept crying. Kenny was officially now freaking out. Oh god, he’s done it. That stupid son of a bitch.

Kenny ran upstairs quickly, bracing himself for something horrific, and trying to grind his teeth to avoid being stupidly emotional about it when he saw it. He slammed open Kyle’s bedroom door, speechless to find-

-Stan cuddled around Kyle as Kyle sniffled on the bed.

‘’Dude!’’ Kenny exclaimed in shock.

Kyle and Stan startled at Kenny, Kyle curling up tighter into Stan.

‘’Kenny? What are you doing here?’’ Kyle asked. Kenny couldn’t undrop his jaw, chest unfairly destroyed, unable to get normal again.

‘’What are _you_ doing here Kyle?’’ Kenny asked.

‘’Um, I live here?’’ Kyle said, glancing at Stan in confusion.

‘’But- I saw, I thought. I saw Sheila crying. I thought you killed yourself!’’

Stan and Kyle widened their eyes.

‘’What? Dude, I’m not killing myself, what the fuck?’’

‘’Why would you even think that?’’ Stan asked defensively, tightening his wrap around Kyle.

‘’You were going on about the past coming back to haunt you, and your eating problems! Fuck- I thought, I thought you’d actually ended it all.’’

That would be nice,’’ Kyle muttered, and Stan gave him a stern look. ‘’No, my mom’s crying because the parasite is gone. She made me stay home to grieve, though I finished years ago.’’

‘’Stan was freaking out at school though,’’ Kenny said.

‘’I know, but she took away my phone. I couldn’t do shit. I wanted to,’’ Kyle said that to Stan, who softly kissed him in return. Kenny groaned and turned away, wondering if they’d ever get out of here. Stan and Kyle probably would. Not him, he was married to this hell.

‘’Wait- what happened to your dad?’’ Kenny asked, turning back to them. Kyle averted his eyes.

‘’Well, don’t say this to anyone. My mom can’t ever know, because she’ll disown me. Not that it matters- but whatever. I called the cops on it this morning. They took it away from here, to where, I dunno. Probably a psych ward, or the trash. But my mom’s been a wreck ever since. So she can’t know it’s me,’’ Kyle warned.

‘’Woah- dude. You called the cops on your dad.’’

‘’That thing is not my father,’’ Kyle said darkly. ‘’It hardly matters, she’ll get over it, and I’ll be free to go on with my life without another fucking thing dragging me down.’’

‘’Dude,’’ Kenny said, pretty speechless. He didn’t really give Kyle his dues, the kid was stronger than he looked. That must be why he wasn’t poned in all those fights he got into.

‘’Weren’t you worried too Stan?’’ Kenny asked.

‘’Well, of course. But I’d never think he’d fucking kill himself, jesus. You would tell me, wouldn’t you?’’ Stan asked Kyle. Kyle scoffed.

‘’Like you have to ask,’’ Kyle smirked. Stan smiled. Kenny sighed, pretty much done with today.

‘’Okay, well. Good for you Kyle, I’m glad you’re not dead. I’d rather not see you down in hell,’’ Kenny said, reaching into his backpack.

‘’Hell?’’ Kyle snorted. Stan snickered.

‘’Yeah, hell. It’s where I’m going. I hope I don’t see you for another eighty years, thanks,’’ Kenny said.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ Kyle laughed.

‘’Uh huh,’’ Kenny said, pulling his gun out of his backpack. It was his emergency. He always kept it on hand. Quick deaths, sometimes he just did these things to occupy himself from the truth of the universe. Nothing mattered.

So let’s fucking die.

Kenny shot himself there in front of them, watching before he dropped, their screams filling the air. Pity party, they wouldn’t remember. They never did.

So Kenny did it every day.

And goodbye.


	5. TeEnagErS

CARTMAN

The school was a bitch.

A dark minded baby mama that let the foolish babes suckle from her twisted old teat, only to rip them away whenever the bitch got tired. Whenever she wanted to fuck. Whenever she enjoyed the sick cries of their stolen misery- looking and bumping into the dark for that old sour tit, never finding it and resorting to biting their undeveloped gums on wooden chairs, getting splinters, crying some more. The bitch watches and watches and never takes her tits out again, sucking herself off on the desperate laboured cries of the babes.

They want anything to keep themselves alive and gay while that bitch watches and jerks herself off in sick pleasure. The things those babies do, to give themselves nutrients to grow and be strong, to leap from their tadpole lives into froghood. They fail.

Without a nurturing bitch to raise them, the tadpoles rage and fight the metal bars keeping them in the cold dank system. They never get out, but they ensure that fucking machine they aren’t going to bend to its sick rules, and no- they aren’t going to be gang raped into following its _authoritah_. It will follow their AUTHORITAH!

So they fail. They get fucked up, and they decide that the bitch was wrong, and they can do what they want- if they have the balls. Most of them don’t actually. They tape tic tacs next to their dicks to pretend they have balls, but Eric knows a set of balls when he sees them, and they are fewer in number than the pussies at school think. It’s because any motherfucker with a set of fists can punch- but do they have the balls to be on top- to acquire land, power, slaves, and bitches? Only the top dogs have that kind of skill and cred. And Eric was the top top dog, he was the head bitch. Nobody fucked with him and let themselves go scot free without sucking that bitches tits and finding they were only fooling themselves the whole time.

He waited for them to crack. Any day now, they’d think they could make it alone in this world. None of their bendy straw asses could do it. Cartman was like the authoritah figure these pathetic bastards needed to get through. Their parents obviously weren’t gonna fill that hole, the fuck were they doing? Eric made sure these poor bitches had a place like a family. Though one wrong move and that home would turn to bloodshed.

No chicks were allowed, naturally. They were all fucking snakes and deserved to burn like the witches they were. No gingers were allowed either. They were forced to the reject gang- which wasn’t more than the losers who couldn’t make the cut of any cult and stumbled around in the shadows avoiding the dogs that fucked them up like kicking puppies on the way to get the mail on the doorstep.

Kyle was the only exception to that rule- and god did Eric rue the day he’d be breaking a rule for Kyle- the bastard, but goddammit he was useful. He and his buttlicker boyfriend Stan took charge of the only other gang Cartman had no jurisdiction over that he potentially could. It pissed him off that there were still factions like theirs that could actually be fucking weak enough to join the enemy- but he’d known those guys a long time. They would screw him in a heartbeat if they knew it would piss him off.

The enemy only grew stronger, and more members on their side made sure to test the boy’s ultimate authoritah over school. Their population crept up all the time, and Eric had to wonder if his men were being asshole traitors and dating any of them. It would be of no surprise to Eric. They were buttfucking retards- but horny ones. They couldn’t understand that these fucking snakes took this information from them while they fucked them passionately and slid that vital intel to the head snake, the bitch. The fucking skank in charge of them.

He knew they were focusing outside of school too- of course they were. Their goal was not only to take away the boys livelihood and semen from their balls, but to assert dominance all over town. Eric got his spies to do some snooping for him. The one thing the girls were retards with was picking out a boy in their midst. Slap a dress and wig on an effeminate fag dude and bam! Wooman.

He knew they based their drug deals in Sodosopa. Eric got Scott to threaten one of their addicts in the gang into making an operation buy. Usually he stuck with them, but a little convincing, a broken nose and he was prepared to chance his luck exchanging with the enemy. There could have been every chance that they find out his game and tie him up while they perform their sexual desires with his strapped down body, and overdose him so he doesn’t remember. It’s just a hunch, but he came back with a girlfriend. So Eric overdosed him himself in punishment.

He found out where the drug deals took place anyway, so it was mission accomplished. The only thing Eric wanted even more than the fags Stan and Kyle to join him, was to find the girls super-secret base. It’s like nobody even knew its location. It was their fiercely kept secret. Well, no matter, some old fashioned tactics would make one of those buttholes break.

It was easy as pie to distract the girls with a minor quarrel in order to detain one of the whores and question her in an empty dank music room.

Eric had brought Kevin and Tommy in with him for intimidation tactics. Naturally- he was the biggest intimidator. The tallest, and definitely hottest one, but also the big fucking dog. Everyone knew his fucking name in this town. Millie was back against the desks, glaring before she met eyes with him, and then they just bled fear. He smiled sweetly to her.

‘’Oh Millie. What’s a little girl like you doing out? It’s dangerous out in these halls,’’ Eric said, affecting his voice and setting his shoulders back smugly.

‘’Fuck you,’’ Millie spat. Tommy wacked her back in admonishment, and she punched him in the cheek for it.

‘’Alright, alright, I’ll give you that,’’ Eric said, holding his arms up at the livid girl. ‘’Tommy get the fuck away, you don’t hit women- the fuck!’’

Tommy slunk away behind him, and Eric coughed and turned back to Millie professionally, hoping to convey the ‘mistake’, so she’d have more trust.

‘’What do you assholes want?’’ Millie said, crossing her arms and apparently done being scared.

‘’Oh- but Millie! We didn’t intend this to be so cold and harsh- no no no! Every girl at skewl deserves a platter of love and devotion!’’

‘’That’s not what you were saying to Bebe two days ago!’’ Mille barked. ‘’You said girls are greedy sluts that would stick dead snakes up their vaginas to satisfy themselves with the lack of boys.’’

‘’Okay- I get how you could misinterpret that. But I wasn’t talking about all girls! It was just like- those women who don’t support abortion- and stuff. Whatever you girls disagree with,’’ Eric said, rolling his eyes. Internally.

‘’You’re such a stupid pig!’’ Oops, maybe she saw it too. ‘’Just let me fucking go. I’m not telling you shit!’’ Mille screamed.

‘’Hey, this is the boss you’re talking to,’’ Kevin warned, stepping up.

‘’Screw your boss, he’s an asshole. And Wendy is a better leader than you’ll ever be!’’

He felt like raging, and his eye twitched with suppressed fire, but no. Eric smiled, chuckled a little, and made Kevin cease so he could step up to her leeringly. This part of the job was the thing. She shielded herself with a determined face. Anyone else would see the bitch’s scowl and be intimidated. This is where they all lacked balls. Eric saw the fear behind her eyes, the trepidation- and faintly behind all that- was the tempting raw urge to give in. He needed to dig behind it, and he needed to find that fucking location the girls hid so well. Giving himself a few minutes, he’d crack the bitch.

‘’Yes, Millie. Wendy is so amazing. She’s got bigger balls than Kevin here,’’ Eric gestured to Kevin, giving her a meaningful look. ‘’I’ll admit it. Wendy’s got an impressive gang. She does,’’ Eric took a brisk stroll around while she stared, slowly looking less defensive, ha. ‘’She must really give you girls the gossip to trust you so much to wander alone through the halls. No one would let you stalk around if you weren’t threatened by some high security stuff. Say you revealed this stuff? What would Wendy do to you? Hmm?’’

Millie opened her mouth to speak, and Eric started again before she could spout whatever half-assed defence Wendy fed to her.

‘’See- here’s the thing Mill. Wendy’s been known to have a brutal retaliation to betrayal. Say you- I don’t know, shared some of your precious intel. Why, I say Wendy would hang you from your chin on the flagpole if she knew you played traitor. We all know it’s true,’’ Eric said.

‘’What’s this got to do with you buttholes?’’ Millie said. Eric grinned.

‘’I’m only here to help you guys Millie,’’ Eric said. ‘’All I want is peace. I know Wendy crusades for destruction- and she’s filled your head with lies-‘

‘’Hey-’’

‘’Filled your head with lies!’’ Eric said louder, sterner. ‘’But you must know that I’m only trying to make things better. And it’s just Wendy making the evolution of this school harder for the rest of us. You know it- I know it. But that’s why I wanted to talk to you dear Mills,’’ Eric said.

‘’What-‘’ Millie said uncertainly.

‘’I’m here because I have a proposition for you Millie,’’ Eric said, back to walking circles. ‘’You’ve got the wrong impression of us dear. Wendy has told you many things. That we oppress women. That we hunt and beat on traitors. That we screw over the little man. That we satisfy our sexual urges by sucking each other off. Not true!’’

Millie’s stance slowly reduced defensiveness, and Eric smiled to himself in pre-emptive victory.

‘’Now I come to why I’ve brought you here today. I want you to join us. I want you to come to the side of victory, and volley for our team Millie. Help us win and we’ll spare you for your biology- and you can be one of our respected bitches! No harm will come to you- from any of my boys, you have my word.’’

‘’Hey!’’

_Aww, crap._

‘’Godfucking dammit,’’ Eric said, cursing and closing his eyes, refusing to look around just yet and complete the shitty picture. The almost curious look of Millie had already been ruined and replaced with grim measure- directed at the voice in the doorway. He didn’t even get to blink before the momentary spell was broken. He didn’t even get to fucking pitch.

When Eric finally looked around- fully aware his boys were shitting their pants where they stood, the bitch was waiting for him to look in her eyes. Just waiting.

Eric blinked and smiled. ‘’Wendy, what a surprise! Whatever brings you here?’’

Wendy kept staring at him, and Eric finally made that destined eye contact. Snakes lived among them, and they had for years. This one had the unfortunate quality of having a beef with him forever. What the fuck for, Eric smirked about.

‘’Let my girl go, right now,’’ Wendy snarled. Eric clicked his fingers without another moments pause, and Kevin and Tommy stood in front of Millie, blocking her path back to the dark side. There was no fucking way he was letting this one go after nearly getting her.

‘’Not so fast. Millie was just considering her options outside of the den of snakes,’’ Eric took a step forward and held his stare with the cackling witch. ‘’I believe any government should allow residents that choice- eh Wendy? That is democracy, after all.’’

‘’Ha! Don’t you act like your gang has any semblance of democracy! You’re a fucking dictator Cartman, and if any of my girls ever tried to join you, it would a week before you either kick them to the rejects or use them as your slaves. And I would never let them survive if they betrayed me. Millie is not going to join you, so fuck off,’’ Wendy said.

‘’Wendy, this is a very complex political transaction. If you wouldn’t mind- backing off for a bit. And I promise we can continue this argument in a janitors closet somewhere,’’ Eric said, raising his eyebrows at her knowingly. Typically he’d be smiling at her typical furious blush rushing around her whore face, but this deal had been important. And he was pretty pissed off that the wench had disrupted progress yet again.

‘’Millie, get your ass over here,’’ Wendy basically growled. Eric made Kevin and Tommy stop her when she tried to join the ho’s side.

‘’Not so fast. Millie is my propertah- it’s been established. She was just about to join our ranks. So you can suck my balls Wendy,’’ Eric gloated.

‘’I’m not yours!’’ Millie cried out in defence. Eric exchanged a series of infuriating looks with a newly gloating Wendy, who held her hips expectantly, like the bitch won. Oh no. Nah uh. _Fuck naw._

He needed to change tactic, quick. Eric sighed.

‘’Boys, let her go,’’ Eric said, waving his hand. They reluctantly released her and he watched her hurry to Wendy’s side, going behind her.

Wendy smirked and was about to leave when Eric spoke again, sighing dramatically.

‘’I do admire you Wendy, and your bitch toy Millie there. It must be hard running your drug cartel, battling a brute force of guys, and dealing with blood running out your vaginas every month. I can’t- can’t imagine how hard it is being the constant bottoms,’’ Eric choked up- actually helping him out by imagining it happening- that fucking misery of it. He’s so fucking glad he’s not gay like those homo ex-friends of his.

He took the risk of glancing up at Wendy. She looked completely unimpressed and vaguely disgusted.

Perfect.

‘’You see Wendy,’’ Eric started again before her liberal trap started blabbing again. ‘’We’re not so different- you and I. Hear me out okay? Because at the end of the day, I’m not the enemy!’’

‘’What the fuck are you talking about?’’

‘’Oh Wendy, you poor mentally challenged lesbian. You don’t even know huh? Geez. Soon it won’t matter how much we hate each other- because we’re gonna have to join forces against an enemy we hadn’t even anticipated.’’

‘’Who?’’ Wendy’s disbelief was evident in her voice.

‘’We did things with no thought of consequences for too long my dear. The rejects. They’re fighting back. I had four reports last week of gingers attacking my men, they barely escaped with their lives. And my spies have only heard whispers of a looming battle.’’ This was all untrue, Eric made it all up. But there’s no way Wendy would know that. She wasn’t in control of whispers in her gang. The bitch was too good for that. ‘’So we need to fight together! Stand up to those buttholes who oppose us just because we kicked them out and deserted them into the wild deadly jungle of school without a lifeline. The fucking nerve of them.’’

‘’Are you serious?’’ Wendy asked.

‘’I’ve never been more serious my whole life. I stake my mother’s life- I’m telling the truth.’’ His mom could go fuck herself for all he cared.

Wendy hesitated. Obviously she was rolling this over in her mind, going back and forth of whether she could even trust his word. There’s no reason she should. He’s fucked her over more times than he’s fucked her. Which is- _heh_ , a lot.

‘’Why would I risk my position in order to appeal to you- hmm? What would I get but a dozen heels in my ass for lying to you? You tell me Wendy, you’d order those heels to stab me?

‘’You’re a piece of shit,’’ Wendy snarled again. ‘’Go find the girls- Bebe actually. Tell her everything,’’ Wendy said quieter to Millie, who nodded. She glared once more at the boys, and ran away. Eric watched her go, now not caring. He got the motherload now, and Wendy didn’t even have to say it for him to see the look in her eyes and know. He fucking won.

Eric preened and stood straighter with professional pride. ‘’Leave us boys, we’re done here.’’

He didn’t have to look twice at them to convey that they should leave this place immediately or he would surgically neuter them. They got the message with the way Wendy blushed, just like Eric did.

Once the music room was empty for them, Eric advanced upon her quickly. Wendy growled and pushed him away.

‘’Who the fuck do you think you are?’’

‘’Your captor bitch, you gonna play along or make this hard like always?’’ Eric said.

‘’Is that some kind of gross metaphor?’’ Wendy said, turning away. ‘’What’s your real motive here? To screw me over like always? There’s no way you actually wanna join with the girls- I know you Cartman. You would rather suck your own balls.’’

‘’For the record- my balls are delicious. In fact- you should go suck them yourself if you’ve been thinking about it,’’ Eric said. He thrust his pelvis out in demonstration for her, and Wendy provided a look of fury followed by a quick glance down. He grinned, glowing victorious already with the submissive sounds of her sex moans.

‘’You dare- if you seriously think that’s what’s happening here asshole-‘’ Wendy said when she understood his growling expressions.

‘’Don’t give me that crap Wendy, you only came here for your dick session, and we both know it. Stop prolonging bitch, you’re only wasting your own precious time,’’ Eric said. Wendy stalked over to him furiously. She bared her teeth when Eric only smirked.

‘’You fucking asshole,’’ Wendy growled, out of nowhere with her packed punch into his gut. Eric fell back in surprise and the desk behind him skid back.

The last thing he saw before being kicked down to the ground was her own smug smirk. Then the hard pressure of her boot pressing into his chest, Eric looked up from the ground where she stood above him. He was livid to admit she had him locked down, but she could have ended it right there the winner, and left him on the ground with her proud hippie smugness. He was almost ready to reinstate that old war if she’d have actually done it.

But no. To his momentary surprise, she didn’t leave with victory. Wendy collapsed to the ground with him- straddling him, squeezing his sides tightly with her thighs. She leaned down over him with an angry huffing breath, and her long hair fell down into his face. He blew it out of his eyes in annoyance, tried to budge, and felt the sting left by the slap of her hand on his face.

‘’Hey- what the f!’’ Eric said.

‘’Shut up,’’ Wendy snapped, and took her demon steel hand and held his jaw tightly. Eric made sure to keep the wild fear from his eyes. That bitch was from nature- and nature could always smell fear. And at that point he wondered if it could notice tents too.

He assumed it did when she dropped down and forcefully kissed him. It was supposed to make him hate her guts- hate her for overpowering him and getting on top- per say. Any other bitch doing it and that would be the case. Sadly Wendy was unaware that he was winning the whole time, because he wasn’t angry. Mostly nostalgic, in fact. Reminded him of that first time. There was no such thing as soft kissing when it came to Wendy, in Cartman’s experience. From third grade to now, it was always hard, breathtaking make outs where he wasn’t doing more than having a pair of fucking lips for her to attack.

Eric blames Stan. He blames that asslicker that always wasted Wendy’s soft loving kisses by vomiting all over her. She got pissed off, and with her child breeding mind only thought she would get anywhere by being hard enough to push through the projectile barfing.

‘’Goddamn ho- calm down,’’ Eric panted when she finally backed away again. They were both already out of breath- like usual. Wendy snarled and hit him again, and Eric was losing patience through the surprise in direction. He’d have never survived in this world if he let Wendy take control the first time sixth grade.

Wendy yelped in surprise when Eric used his strength and pulled her back by the hair. She shouted out in pain and fell back as he shoved her roughly down to the floor- effectively flipping her and landing on top.

He knew Wendy liked it. He wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t. He just watched her pupils fatten and that wicked laugh leave her lips as she spread her legs wider in shameless acceptance. Eric fell down- two inches from her face, dragging the big throbbing hot rod down upon her hips as she sighed wordless encouragement.

‘’You can’t beat us,’’ Wendy uttered, rubbing herself lewdly onto his clothed dick where she lay, hair frazzled from where he yanked it. Eric leaned in for another kiss, but she turned and pushed his head down to her neck before he could, making him suck it. It was just like always, the bitch never let him do it softly. Never let him do it at all.

‘’C’mon Eric,’’ Wendy whined. ‘’Let’s just do it- you’ve got me okay? Oh- I’m so horny- _fuck me Eric_. Fill me with your fat cock. I’m fucking busy here,’’ she said impatiently.

‘’Ugh- you ruin it everytime,’’ Eric complained, going still. Wendy groaned loudly.

‘’Fucking again? Cartman- really?’’ Wendy said, sitting up and brushing her hair down. ‘’It’s at a certain point I wonder what the fuck you want from me.’’

Eric scoffed. ‘’I’ve got like 16 replacement chicks if you won’t put out, I’m not losing anything. Bitch.’’

‘’Are you serious? You’re the one who wants this sappy relationship shit- trust me it sucks okay? The whole thing is overrated. I’m right here- now get your fucking dick out or I’ll find someone else who will. And trust me there’s plenty boys interested.’’

‘’Ha!’’ Eric laughed. ‘’My boys? They’d never even look in your direction unless I tell them to. Your only piece of dick in this town is me ho.’’

Wendy grinned evilly then, and Eric didn’t trust it one inch. ‘’It must be so emasculating for you sometimes. You’d flip out if I told you the truth.’’

‘’What truth?’’ Eric asked.

Wendy leaned up to him, pulling Eric down as her lips hit his ear. ‘’I know how angry you’d get if I told you _KENNY_ gave me more than you could hope to provide.’’

Eric pulled backwards in angry shock, and Wendy took advantage of him and pulled him back onto her and quickly put her hand down and squeezed his dick hard.

‘’What the fuck- you whore!’’ Eric shouted.

‘’Get with the program _Eric_ ,’’ Wendy cooed tauntingly. She grabbed his face close to her and bit his bottom lip- fucking hard. Eric tasted his own blood. ‘’Everyone is fucked up now, there’s no need to be surprised.’’

**

Eric burst out of the music room that day in an angry fury anyone nearby would die for.

It’s not fucking fair. He hated Wendy so much it burned. He wanted to kill her. Kill the bitch for everything.

He had to get revenge- quickly. There was no time to waste when bitches needed to pay.

This was why they split from the evil female population all along. Their disgustingly low moves would wipe out men all over the planet. And they just didn’t care.

Fuck Wendy. No- not even literally. She needed the worst revenge of all. The fucking witch!

They had sex- like usual. His charismatic moves to make things romantic failed. As they fucking did. But Wendy fucking won. Well not for long- goddammit.

‘’Kevin!’’ Kevin- fucking get over here!’’ Eric screamed from their faction of the halls. Bitch-ass Kevin came rushing over. Cartman hated everyone right now. This little penis-hooker was useless.

‘’Go find Brad and Tommy and everyone you can find! We’re ending this now!’’ Eric said to him. Before Kevin dashed away to obey his orders, Eric caught his arm and tightened his grip.

‘’Ow-‘’

‘’And bring me Token,’’ Eric said darkly. Kevin widened his eyes like it was blasphemous to even mention him.

‘’But- he’s-‘’

‘’I don’t care fag! Just do it! Assemble in the meeting place.’’

Eric watched him leave and turn a corner. Not fast enough.

This bitch was dying now. It was the last straw.

**

The cafeteria was surrounded by his most trusted confidantes. As trustworthy as anyone was nowadays.

Eric strode in powerfully, asserting himself and glaring at those who continued to stare. They cowered.

He took place in the centre, and coughed loudly to get their attention.

‘’Fellow boys. Welcome to this essential meeting of the decade. Now I think we all know why I’ve called you here.’’

‘’I’m on a strict schedule Cartman,’’ Token butted in, standing prominently with his butthole superior height. Cartman- Eric!- glared.

‘’Well- _Token_. This won’t take up too much of your precious time,’’ Eric deadpanned him, who returned with an attractive snarl. He only thought he was better than everyone because he had it made easy with his riches and school betting pool and sobbing puppy to fuck whenever he pleased.

‘’What happened Chief?’’ Tommy cut in anxiously.

‘’Ah yes,’’ Eric provided one last glare to Token before proceeding. ‘’I’m afraid our lives are no longer so protected. The girls are planning an attack to destroy us once and for all. And we must beat them to it! Kevin and Tommy are firsthand witnesses to the abuse the girls will not hesitate to enforce!’’

‘’It’s true,’’ Kevin said, like a good bottom feeding sap.

‘’It’s okay man,’’ Eric said to Kevin, patting his shoulder. ‘’You’re safe now.’’

‘’Are you actually proposing a real confrontation with the opposition?’’ Token said sceptically.

‘’Token- you. You’re just really breaking my balls right now,’’ Eric sighed. ‘’It is not up to me. My men have been abused and violated for too long! The bitches think they can get away with anything- do anything to you just because you gave them a chance. You loved them dammit! You wanted them to be yours, and they snatched your hope away like a crying babe and killed it with a rock. It’s not up to me Token! This is for justice- once and for all!’’

The cheers of agreement were all Eric needed to hear, and he lavished their praise and sparked agreements like a balm to the injustice served by Wendy. She’d pay. Bebe would pay. They’d all pay.

He amassed his army, and they planned for justice. JUSTICE dammit!

And Wendy would die for giving him Syphilis.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me if you choose :3](https://www.instagram.com/lozislaw/)


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